


Idioglossia

by hotelmichelle



Series: secret language 'verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A little bit of everything, Codependency, Domestic Avengers, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Torture, Internalized Homophobia, Languages and Linguistics, M/M, Multilingual Character, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Recovery, Slice of Life, Steve and Bucky have a secret language, ages are slightly fudged in this, aka they're the same age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 03:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12050598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotelmichelle/pseuds/hotelmichelle
Summary: “James and Steve. If I have to tell you one more time to stop talking, you will be separated. Do you understand?”Bucky stares up at Mrs. Wheatley with the face that gets him out of trouble when his ma is in a good mood. Steve becomes suddenly fascinated with his correction work. It would have been convincing enough, if their papers weren’t blank.Or: Steve and Bucky make up a secret language





	Idioglossia

**Author's Note:**

> I started teaching first grade recently and I’ve noticed that there are some best friend pairs who just cannot. stop. talking. to. each. other. So naturally, I decided that Steve and Bucky would 100% be those kids. And then this happened.
> 
> Their language is written _'like this.'_
> 
> Spoilers for: A Beautiful Mind, Perfect Sisters, the first season of Stranger Things, and the first season of House of Cards.

  
  


__  
idioglossia  
/ˌɪdɪəʊˈɡlɒsɪə/  
noun  
1\. a private language, as invented by a child or between two children who are in close contact, esp twins 

  
  
  


**February 1925:**  
“James and Steve. If I have to tell you one more time to stop talking, you will be separated. Do you understand?”

Bucky stares up at Mrs. Wheatley with the face that gets him out of trouble when his ma is in a good mood. Steve becomes suddenly fascinated with his correction work. It would have been convincing enough, if their papers weren’t blank.

She lets it slide.

Steve writes out exactly one correction. On their last spelling test, he forgot the “e” on the end of “curve.” Therefore, he must copy it correctly three times. When he finishes, he lifts his head. Mrs. Wheatley is walking up and down the rows of desks, glancing at each student’s spelling paper as she passes. Steve slides his test away and moves onto the week’s new spelling paper. Each new word must be copied three times, as if that will somehow ensure he will remember silent e’s in the future. 

Thirty little blanks stare back at him. Steve does not want to do this.

He looks to his left, where Bucky is diligently rushing through his spelling. If they could talk to each other, he’d probably tell Steve to just get it over with. Steve tries. He finishes the first word easily-who doesn’t know how to spell “four”?? He even breezes through “gold” and “cold.” He glances to his left again. Bucky only has three more spelling words to copy until he’s finished. 

Steve doodles a little snowman next to “cold.” It has a small carrot nose and the hat that Bucky wore nearly every day up until a few weeks ago. He wonders if it’s still warm outside. It was warm this morning and when he leans over his desk a little bit, he has a better view of the window; it looks like a nice day. It’s been getting warmer recently, which means Bucky’s birthday is coming up. Steve briefly contemplates what to get him, letting his eyes wander to his left. Bucky’s paper is nearly full of writing. 

Steve tries desperately to refocus. 

When he goes to write “answer” for the first time, he sees a little 9 on the top of the spelling paper. What could that mean? Perhaps they’ve been in school for 9 weeks. But no, that doesn’t add up; it’s nearly March. Besides, he met Bucky when Mrs. Wheatley placed them next to each other in this class, and Steve knows he and Bucky have been friends for longer than 9 weeks. Maybe he can make Bucky a new slingshot for his birthday. Carefully, he starts to tear his paper in a little circle around the snowman. When the sketch is completely torn off, Steve silently reaches over and places it on top of Bucky’s desk.

Suddenly, Mrs. Wheatley is right in front of them. “Steve,” she snaps. “Switch seats with Anna. These will be your seats now.” Steve opens his mouth to gripe, maybe even plead with her; but Mrs. Wheatley silences him with one look. “Go,” she insists. 

Steve does.

Bucky glares at him, his face partially blocked by Anna’s shoulder.

***

Bucky starts complaining as soon as they are dismissed from class. “If you’da just done your spelling, you wouldn’t of had to switch.”

“That ‘writing it three times’ stuff is dumb, Buck. Is’not like writing the same thing over and over is gonna help us spell.” Steve’s got that voice he uses when he’s made up his mind about something, and they’ve only been friends for 8 months but Bucky already knows that arguing is useless.

He settles for giving Steve his most withering look, then dramatically throws his head back and lets his arms fall limply at his sides. “Now I gotta sit next to Anna Calhoun,” he moans. Last week, Anna Calhoun told half their second-grade class that she liked Bucky. 

Steve doesn’t really have anything against Anna, but the idea of Bucky sitting next to her is strangely distressing. “Well,” he tries, “I’m only gonna be on the other side of her. Maybe we can just talk around her.” Bucky is shaking his head before Steve even finishes. 

“No. No way. If Mrs. Wheatley caught us talking right next to each other, how’s she gonna let us talk all the way around Anna?”

It’s a good point. Steve thinks, then offers, “We could pass notes?”

“You passin me notes is what got you moved in the first place,” Bucky shoots back. They walk in silence for the next block and Bucky can practically feel the gears turning in Steve’s head. He’s not about to let this thing go.

Steve turns to Bucky then, mouth open and eyes wide. “I got it!” He exclaims. “You know how Louis in Ms. Bridges’ class can’t hear anything? And he has to talk with his hand signals?”

“Yeah?”

“So, we just gotta make up hand signals!” Steve is grinning like he’s just solved all their problems. His bottom right canine tooth hasn’t come in yet and the gap is apparent. Bucky can’t help but give him a little smile back.

“Alright, Stevie,” he agrees. “Let’s make up hand signals.”

When they get to Bucky’s apartment, they head into his shared bedroom and lock Rebecca out. She immediately starts banging her little fists on the door.

“Buckkkyyy! My dolls are in there!” Rebecca cries.

She’s making a racket and they can’t have Bucky’s ma intervening, so they open the door a crack. Bucky holds the door in place while Steve slides the little box with Becca’s dolls into the hallway. She’s only 5 but she’s mastered the art of giving dirty looks. 

When she’s gone and the door is locked again, Steve and Bucky sit cross legged on the wood floor. They’re facing each other, knees touching slightly.

“So,” Bucky says, leaning back on his hands. “What do we make up first?”

“Maybe we should start with our names. We gotta have signals for our names, or else how are we gonna start talking?” Steve reasons.

Bucky tries to think about Louis in Ms. Bridges’ class. He does his hand signs so fast, it’s hard to really tell what he’s doing. Steve watches Bucky open and close his left hand experimentally between them. Then he wiggles his right fingers, testing different gestures rather than moving purposefully.

He settles on holding his right hand up with his thumb, pointer finger, and middle finger extended. After waving it in a few different patterns, he stops. “Okay, this,” he says, holding up his hand for Steve to copy. When he does, Bucky waves his hand as if he’s drawing the curves of a capital “B.” “See, it’s like a B for Bucky,” he explains.

Steve copies his motion a few more times, making sure he’s got it right and won’t forget it later. Then he says, “Do mine too!”

“Stevie, you gotta do your own.” 

Steve frowns. He remains quiet for a few seconds. 

Bucky gives in. “Fine, I’ll help you, but then you gotta do it on your own. I can’t come up with this whole language all by myself, ya know.” Bucky reaches out and when Steve offers up his right hand, he takes it in both of his own. Bucky gently twists Steve’s middle and ring finger together. “How about this?” He asks, holding Steve’s hand up between them. “It’s twisty, like an ‘S.’”

Steve nods. “I like it.”

“But you gotta have a motion too, like mine,” Bucky points out, releasing Steve’s hand.

Steve studies his hand, thinking hard. As he thinks, he brings his fingers up to his lips, still in the position Bucky twisted them into.

“That’s good!” Bucky cries.

Steve raises his eyebrows at Bucky, not understanding.

Bucky twists his own middle and ring finger together, then brings them to his mouth. He taps his bottom lip once and then quickly brings his hand back, so it’s a couple inches from his mouth. Steve didn’t mean for that to be his sign but it does look kind of cool when Bucky does it so, he doesn’t argue.

Bucky does Steve’s sign a few more times and then laughs. 

“What?” Steve asks.

“This ‘as gotta be your sign, ‘cause you got such a big mouth,” Bucky replies. Steve shoves him, but he’s smiling as he does it.

***

The next day at school, they get their first opportunity to test out their new language. Mrs. Wheatley is talking about The Great War and Steve could not be more uninterested. He’s already doodled several little soldiers on the wooden surface of his desk. He’s already gone through no less than 6 possibilities for Bucky’s birthday present in his head. Even spelling would be more engaging than this.

Steve leans forward so he can peer past Anna to see what Bucky is doing. He appears to be transfixed by a string on his shirt, which he tugs at until it’s plucked free. Steve snaps his fingers, hoping to get Bucky’s attention.

Bucky twists the little thread around his middle finger, pulling it tight and making his fingertip turn a dark red. Steve snaps his fingers again.

It doesn’t get Bucky’s attention, but it does get Mrs. Wheatley’s. “Steve, is there a problem?” She asks.

Steve sits back in his seat. Using his most innocuous voice, he says, “No, Ma’am.”

“Good,” Mrs. Wheatley replies. Her eyes return to the textbook splayed open in her hands and she resumes her explanation of America’s entry into The Great War. When Steve looks to his left again, Bucky’s string is forgotten and he’s staring back.

Steve holds up his thumb, pointer finger, and middle finger. He curves his hand in the air twice, signing Bucky’s name. Bucky’s face cracks into a grin. He twists his own middle and ring fingers together, taps his bottom lip and then brings his hand back. 

Something strange flutters in Steve’s chest.

 

**April 1932:**  
Steve hasn’t studied. Even if he had, he’s no good at science.

He reads the problem for the third time, as if the answer will somehow pop into his head. The atomic number is the number of what in the atom? They had learned about this on the day Clara Shelton wore a rather revealing blue dress. Bucky had commented on it; he’d said she looked good and wanted to know if Steve agreed. “Sure,” Steve had said, and Bucky had teased him about his lack of enthusiasm.

Privately, Steve still thought Clara looked like she got around.

He reads the problem in front of him again. He’s fairly confident the answer is C, electrons. But, now that he’s thinking about it, protons sounds like it could be right too.

Steve taps his pencil twice against his desk and then rests his chin in his right palm; his thumb, pointer finger, and middle finger are splayed against the side of his face. It’s a silent, _‘hey, Bucky.’_

Steve waits a moment, then looks briefly at Bucky. They were lucky to get seats where they have a decent view of each other.

Bucky is leaning his left elbow on his desk. His eyes are on the test in front of him but his middle and ring finger are twisted where they rest on the side of his head.

Though many signs in their language have vague or context-dependent meanings, the motions for “Steve” and “Bucky” are the most versatile. In the simplest terms, their name signs indicate a general call to the other. They can mean, “I have something to tell you” or “hey, look at this” or even, “you have my attention.” Any other sign can take on a different meaning if performed with the “Steve” or “Bucky” hand positions.

For example, the sign for “thanks” is a thumb touched to one’s jawline and then flicked away in the direction of the other. However, if Bucky twisted his middle and ring fingers, touched them to his jaw, and then flicked them away, the sign would become “thanks, Steve.”

Sometimes, when Steve really thinks about it, he can’t even comprehend how they remember all these signs and the rules that go along with them. 

Steve removes his hand from his chin and taps his pointer and middle finger to the desk, then just his pinky; the sign for _‘2’_ and then _‘6.’_ He lays his hand flat against the desk, palm down, symbolizing “that’s it.”

Bucky doesn’t look like he’s been watching at all but his fingers are still twisted against his temple, so he must’ve seen Steve’s signs. Bucky flips back in his test, locating problem 26. When he finds it, he hooks his right pinky around his left thumb. _‘A.’_

_‘Thanks,’_ Steve signs back. He circles “A” on his test and moves onto problem 27.

***

“You know, pal, someday we’re gonna get seats right in front of each other or something. Then what are ya gonna do?”

Steve shrugs. Honestly, he hasn’t thought much about that. As far as he’s concerned, there’s no way to truly separate him and Bucky. They’ll always find a way to get a message through.

They’re sitting on Bucky’s couch while Steve does their math homework. Like everything else, they’ve got a system for homework. Steve does the math and the history, which he’s grown fonder of since they were little. Bucky does the science and writes their papers for English.

This afternoon, Bucky has got it easy. They just took a test in science and their next paper isn’t due until Friday, so he’s just relaxing against the cushions. Every so often, he pops a sunflower seed into his mouth and cracks it with his molars. Steve sits at his side, quietly calculating different angles for their geometry homework. Really, Bucky could do it himself. But Bucky does the work for two subjects, so it’s only fair that Steve gets two as well.

Steve looks up from the page. _‘Give me one,’_ he signs.

Bucky offers him the bag of sunflower seeds with one hand and uses the other to say, “You know, _‘that movie’_ Scarface comes out _‘on Saturday.’_ We should go see it.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, returning to the math problems on his lap.

They’ve been proficient with the language since they were about twelve and ever since, they’ve used a combination of spoken English and hand motions when alone together. Still, because there are obvious downsides to their language, they verbalize things more often than not.

For one, it’s not actually a complete language. Since they only create new signs out of necessity or boredom, there are plenty of words that are used too rarely and never demanded a translation. Much of the language was created in the first few years, when there were still plenty of useful signs they hadn’t yet formed.

They’ve had a lot of free time over the years, especially with Steve being sick all the time. Coming up with new translations entertains Steve and keeps him from feeling useless while he’s lying in bed all day. It gives Bucky something to do other than drive himself crazy with worry. Nevertheless, some words just never came up.

For example, the only proper nouns that have signs are their own names. The names of restaurants, movies, and other people must be verbalized.

Obviously, they can’t use their sign language unless they are both looking at each other. Now, when Steve is bent over his homework, Bucky has no choice but to say things out loud.

Steve finishes transferring the last few answers from his own notebook to Bucky’s. He hands Bucky’s notebook back for him to look over. “You need to _‘write numbers 12 and 13’_ in your own handwriting,” Steve tells him.

_‘Okay, what-,’_ Bucky starts, but Becca wanders into the room right then. She’s just passing through, heading towards the kitchen. Bucky drops his hand and says out loud, “What’s 12?” Steve reads the answer out to him and he copies it down. Then he asks for 13 and Steve reads him that one too.

Very early on, they came to the agreement not to use the language in front of other people. Their mothers know that they had a system of hand signs as kids, but nobody knows the true extent of it or that it’s such a big part of how to speak to each other. They want to keep it that way. They don’t talk about why but privately, they both understand on some level that this is not normal behavior. Kids are separated from their best friends all the time and most of them don’t respond by creating complex dialects.

Behind them, Becca leans over the back of the couch. She’s munching loudly on an apple.

“Lemme guess,” she says, “you guys are cheating on your homework again.”

“It’s called being efficient, Becca,” Bucky states plainly.

She emulates his tone. “It’s called cheating, Bucky.”

Before Bucky can give some snappy comeback, Steve says, “Hey, Becca. Gimme a bite.”

Becca moves the apple closer to Steve’s mouth and holds it still as he sinks his teeth in.

Bucky is watching the exchange carefully. “You know, Stevie,” he says. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just hung around here to eat all our food.”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Becca agrees, emphasizing the nickname around her mouthful of apple. She ruffles his hair just to be obnoxious.

Steve playfully shoves her hand away. “Don’t call me that,” he tells her.

“See Becca, this is why we gotta copy each other,” Bucky points out, waving the bag of seeds in her general direction. “We never have time to do the work ourselves ‘cause you’re always bothering us.”

Becca rolls her eyes at Bucky. “Yeah right. You guys probably cheated off each other before I was even born.”

“We didn’t know each other before you were born, genius,” Bucky replies. 

The three of them talk in circles like that, teasing each other. Blood or not, Becca has been a little sister to Steve for years. When she was 7, she caught Steve and Bucky stealing candies from the corner store. Bucky had held her down so Steve could tickle her until she swore on her life that she wouldn’t tell. The summer she was 10, she fell out of the tree that she’d been told not to climb. Their parents were at work, so Steve had cleaned her scraped knee while Bucky distracted her with funny stories.

Becca can’t even remember a time when her brother wasn’t part of this package deal; if you get Bucky, you get Steve too. And that’s just fine with her.

After a few minutes, they start to run out of new things to call each other. Becca’s getting bored. She straightens up and tosses her apple rind into the trash. 

“I’ll leave you guys to your cheating,” she calls as she heads back to her bedroom.

With Becca gone, Steve and Bucky sit in silence for a couple moments. Bucky absently pops another sunflower seed into his mouth.

“ _‘What day did you say’_ Scarface comes out again?” Steve asks.

_‘Saturday, I think,’_ Bucky replies. “Why? You got some big plans for the weekend you haven’t told me about?”

Steve smirks at him. _‘Maybe,’_ he motions.

Bucky works a sunflower seed around in his mouth. Steve watches the way his lips shift, the little movements of his cheek, and how he can see his tongue poking against the side of his mouth.

He catches Steve staring but doesn’t comment. Instead, he tilts his head curiously to one side and says, “Nah. You’d never make plans _‘without me.’_ ”

_‘Don’t test me,’_ Steve signs. But Bucky’s right. Of course, Bucky’s right.

  


**January 1944:**  
For the first time in his life, Steve has no idea what to say to Bucky. He’s stoic all the time now, utterly closed off.

Steve can accept Bucky’s newfound seriousness; they’re at war and it’s not even been two weeks since Bucky was strapped to Zola’s table. He can overlook the tense way Bucky holds himself and the deep frown that has settled into his face. 

It’s the cold silence that gets to him. Bucky is treating Steve like he’s a stranger. He won’t talk, acts like Steve has upset him but won’t tell him what he’s done. It’s not helped by the fact that Bucky seems to be more open with everyone who isn’t Steve.

Bucky could never really keep his mouth shut when it came to Steve. When they were nine, Robert Nelson-Bucky’s closest friend after Steve-stole Mrs. Martin’s red correcting pen. He made Bucky swear he’d never tell another soul and Bucky swore on his life; and then he ran right home to Steve’s place and told him everything that Robert had confessed. When they were fifteen, Bucky whispered promises into Clara Shelton’s ear. He’d never say a word, he said. He’d take what they did to grave, he said. Bucky had knocked on Steve’s window that night. He’d climbed up the fire escape and snuck into Steve’s bedroom and told him everything he did with Clara. And after he’d spilled his guts in excruciating detail, he’d fallen asleep right there in Steve’s bed and stayed there until they had to wake up for school.

Steve has always been Bucky’s exception.

Now, Bucky shuts the door to Steve’s quarters behind him with a soft click. There are benefits to being a captain, and having your own private quarters is one of them.

“Morita said you wanted to see me?”

Steve nods and goes to sit on the edge of his bed. Bucky stares, waiting. He’s standing just inside the closed door, like a teenager who’s been called into his dad’s office after a bad test score. Even if Steve didn’t know Bucky like the back of his hand, he’d get the message; Bucky is practically radiating “I don’t want to talk.”

Bucky allows him exactly half a second of eye contact before he breaks it off. It stings but Steve tries to choke it down, tries not to let the hurt seep into his voice when he starts talking.

“Yeah, Buck, I-” He cuts off. He can’t help it; Bucky’s stubborn rigidity is driving him fucking crazy. He signs, _‘come sit down.’_

Usually, when one of them switches to signs, the other follows.

Consequently, Steve can feel his blood pressure rising when Bucky verbalizes, “No thanks.” Steve doesn’t want an argument but he’s never been good at containing his frustration. Besides, Bucky is really pushing him. Bucky knows it too, because he quickly adds, “I can’t stay long. Told Stark I’d look at some new rifle he’s made.” 

Steve just blinks at Bucky for a moment, incredulous.

“Are you serious?” Steve asks. 

Bucky sighs, tilts his head to the ceiling. Then he determinedly meets Steve’s eyes, vaguely waving one hand. “Look, Steve, what do you want? I got stuff to do so if-”

“Bullshit,” Steve spits. “If you really think you can pull this act with me, you must be a goddamn idiot, Buck.” 

Bucky has been all professional politeness for two weeks, like they’re goddamn coworkers or something. Steve didn’t want to fight, truly. But he would gladly take pissed off, screaming Bucky over this civil, distant Bucky any day.

“’s not an act, pal. What, you think you’re the only one who can have a life?” Bucky sneers.

What.

Something slides into place in Steve’s head. There was a time, not too long ago, when Bucky was the only one who demanded Steve; his time, his attention, his affection. Now, the number of people who need him is rapidly growing. Phillips needs to meet with him; the Commandos want to know what their next move is; Peggy is…well, around him a lot. Steve zeros in on that, thinks about how strange Bucky has been about Peggy. He hasn’t been exactly warm with anybody lately but his general moodiness is dialed up when she comes around. He’s almost rude to her, like-

Oh.

“Are you… _jealous_?”

Bucky desperately wants to be anywhere but here. He says, “No!” Then, “Did you smack your head or something?” 

But something in his eyes is terrified and Steve hears, “yes, yes, yes.”

“Bucky,” he says, gently. He’s sloppily signing Bucky’s name into the air as he vocalizes it; the gesture is subtle and somewhat unconscious.

Steve takes a guarded step towards Bucky. Then another. All his irritation has been sapped from him, replaced with an instinctual need to comfort; Bucky is upset and he needs to fix it. Steve reaches out and lets his fingertips graze Bucky’s forearm. His face is soft, which only serves to infuriate Bucky.

Steve’s hand is slapped away. 

“Get offa me,” Bucky snarls. He whips around to leave and manages one step before he feels Steve’s hand on his arm again. The grip is rough this time; turning him back around and holding him in place. Bucky puts his free hand on Steve’s chest and shoves, hard. “I said. Get. Off. Me.” His tone is dangerous, like the threatened and panicky animal that he is in this moment.

Steve is unaffected, just standing there with his fingers digging into Bucky’s arm and looking at him with that stupid, tender, sorry face. It’s too late for explanations. Steve knows; he knows that he’s hurt Bucky and he knows why and he’s sorry. Of course, Steve is sorry.

Beneath everything, Steve is a fucking good person. He’s found his one, his girl, and he’s still got the decency to feel pity for Bucky’s sorry, sick self. It makes the blood rush in Bucky’s ears. He can’t stand to see the pity in Steve’s eyes. He thinks he might throw up if he has to look at it any longer.

“What the fuck is your problem? Let go of me, Steve.” 

He yanks his arm but Steve is frustratingly strong now, and he manages to keep his hold.

“Bucky, just-just listen, please.”

Bucky doesn’t want to listen. He doesn’t want to talk. His eyes at stinging from anger and humiliation. There’s a physical ache in his chest, like something’s been torn. He realizes then, horrified, that he’s seconds away from crying. He needs to get the fuck out of here and, and-

Steve curls his available hand to his own chest, then brings it out between then, opening his hand and revealing his palm to Bucky. _‘Yours.’_

Bucky blinks twice, mouth slightly open in shock and eyebrows knit together in confusion. He’s staring at Steve’s open hand like an idiot. 

“What?” He whispers.

“It’s always been you, Buck,” Steve murmurs. He brings his hand to Bucky’s face and uses his thumb to swipe a tear from his cheek. Lightly cupping his jaw, Steve stills Bucky’s quivering bottom lip by pushing his thumb against it.

The tears are falling unabashedly now, as Bucky moves to press a kiss into Steve’s thumb.

_‘Don’t cry,’_ Steve signs.

Bucky lets out something between a sob and a gasping laugh. They’re so close that Bucky can feel Steve’s body heat radiating off him and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt _so much_ in his entire life. It’s overwhelming but not unpleasant. He grabs Steve’s hand, placing it on the back of his own neck and leaving it there. 

_‘Shut up,’_ Bucky motions.

Finally, finally, Steve gets the memo and starts to lean in. It’s been twenty years since they met and almost as long since they made up a fucking language rather than be apart for an 8-hour school day. It’s been fifteen years since Bucky made Steve ride the Cyclone and looked over mid-ride at Steve’s laughing, screaming face and realized that he was desperately in love. It’s been fourteen years since the first time Bucky begged God to please, please fix him. Twelve years since Bucky closed his eyes while inside Clara Shelton and pictured Steve. 

Bucky has waited so long. He’s been so patient; he’s spent years clamping down on every urge and digging his fingers into his palm to avoid doing something stupid. Now, he thinks, he deserves this.

Steve is taking fucking forever, as if Bucky hasn’t waited long enough already. So, Bucky grabs the sides of Steve’s stupid head with both of his hands and pulls him forward until their lips meet. And then Bucky is kissing him-not in a dream or a in a scene inside his head-actually, really kissing him.

And even more incredible than that: Steve is kissing back. He parts his lips, lets Bucky sigh against his mouth. It feels like safety, like this is what he was always meant to be doing.

Now that Steve’s gotten started, Bucky removes his hands from his face, confident that he won’t pull away. He circles them around Steve’s waist instead, pulling his torso flush against his own. One of his hands snakes up Steve’s side, under his brown leather jacket and plain white t-shirt. Bucky’s not rushed; he just to feel the warm flesh under his fingertips.

They explore each other like that for a minute, just testing this new development and all the new things they can now do with each other. Steve’s right hand is nestled firmed against the back of Bucky’s neck, carding through the soft hairs there and pulling Bucky in. Bucky has one hand still dancing around Steve’s back, the other rests on the side of Steve’s neck.

When Bucky brushes his thumb against the jumping pulse in Steve’s neck, Steve makes a tiny, needy sound. Bucky repeats the motion, getting greedy. In response, Steve works one hand under the bottom hem of Bucky’s simple black t-shirt. His pinky finger dips between Bucky’s hip and his Army grade pants. Thank God, neither of them are in full uniform right now.

Steve’s kisses are becoming more desperate. It makes Bucky feel famished; he wants.

Bucky removes his hand from under Steve’s shirt, using it instead to shuck the leather jacket off his shoulders. It’s thrown carelessly across the room and forgotten. He presses himself to Steve, feels him through their pants. The contact forces a little whine from Bucky’s lips.

“Buck,” Steve breathes in between frantic, wet kisses.

“Mm,” Bucky responds. His fingers are repeatedly grasping loosely at Steve’s back, saying _‘mine, mine.’_ Steve returns the gesture and Bucky ducks his head under Steve’s chin, mouthing kisses into his neck.

When Steve lets out a low laugh, Bucky can feel it against his lips. God, he could do this forever. 

“Wait,” Steve insists, putting a hand against Bucky’s chest and applying slight pressure. Bucky groans. What the hell does Steve think he’s been doing since 1929? 

Bucky would say this out loud, but he doesn’t want to have that conversation right now, doesn’t want to have any conversation at all. He makes this clear by fiddling with Steve’s belt buckle until it comes undone. 

Steve grabs at Bucky’s hands, forcing them to still. “The door,” he explains.

Fuck.

Bucky pulls away. The sudden loss of contact is like ripping off a band-aid. He makes a bee line for the door, rotates the lock, and then tests it for good measure. Then he stalks back to Steve, who is sitting down again on the edge of the bed. Good.

Steve makes a little surprised sound when Bucky goes right into a kneeling position on the bed, straddling Steve’s hips. He grinds down, bringing out a groan from Steve, who is already tugging Bucky’s shirt up. They break apart just long enough to rid each other of their shirts. Then Bucky is leaning down again, licking into Steve’s mouth.

Wrapping one arm firmly around Bucky’s waist, Steve flips them and tosses Bucky onto the bed. He goes straight for the waistline of his pants, yanking his boxers down with them and then kicking them off the foot of the bed.

He crawls back up, playfully brushing wet kisses against Bucky’s chest on his way. Bucky is watching him, face flushed, and groans when Steve’s tongue brushes his nipple. He repeats the motion that started all of this; grabs Steve’s face and yanks him up, kissing him hard. Steve lifts his hips and wiggles out his pants with the help of Bucky’s rushed hands.

_‘Off,’_ Bucky signs against the side of Steve’s boxers, not breaking the kiss. Steve obeys. 

Bucky is openly desperate beneath Steve, arching his back and digging his fingers into Steve’s ass cheeks to pull him down. Steve goes without hesitation. He grinds his hips into Bucky’s over and over, chasing the little gasps and moans that Bucky keeps making. Their bodies slip together as Steve finds a rhythm and Bucky’s legs lock around his lower back.

He knows they could do so much more than this, but he can’t stop moving against Bucky long enough to switch it up. It’s been too long and it feels too good.

“’m not gonna last,” Steve gets out.

“S’okay. Me neither.”

Bucky sounds-and looks-absolutely wrecked. His pupils are huge, hair all tousled across his forehead. His bottom lip is a deep pink from where he’s been chewing at it in a desperate attempt to keep quiet. Steve hits a nerve with his next thrust and Bucky sucks in a breath. He presses his open lips along Steve’s collarbone and suckles the warm flesh there.

Bucky comes like that, biting into Steve’s shoulder and then whimpering nonsensical syllables against his skin. Steve follows him, set off by the little noises that Bucky is making. He rests his forehead against Bucky’s and they stay like that for a few moments, breathing each other’s air until their hearts slow down.

Eventually, Steve forces himself to get up. He gives Bucky a quick peck to the lips before grabbing the tissues from the bedside table. Bucky watches quietly as Steve cleans them off and then unceremoniously drops the tissue into the little trash can in the corner.

When Steve returns and flops onto his back, Bucky turns sweet and clingy. He props himself up on one elbow and leans over Steve. He kisses the bite mark he left in Steve’s shoulder and then licks it, just for good measure. He kisses Steve’s cheek and his temple and when Steve taps his own lips twice with two fingers, Bucky kisses him there too. Steve smiles, blinks slowly, and takes Bucky’s face in both of his hands. He studies the flush of his cheeks and the sated, glassy look in his eyes; Steve wants to memorize this and keep it with him for the rest of his life.

He has loved Bucky in some capacity ever since he was seven years old but, God, in that moment, Steve _adores_ Bucky. Bucky is absolutely everything, his entire world; he’d lie and cheat and steal and kill if that’s what it took to ensure Bucky’s wellbeing.

The English language doesn’t have words for the kind of thing that Steve is feeling, it’s above and beyond any term or definition that a teacher could have taught him. So, he signs Bucky’s name into his back, over and over. He kisses the tip of Bucky’s nose and the little spot behind his ear until he settles into Steve’s arms. Bucky wraps himself around Steve and makes a little, tired sound as he lays his head on Steve’s shoulder.

They’re both still for a minute or two. Just as Steve is beginning to drift, he feels Bucky shifting. Then Bucky’s hand is making strange motions into Steve’s chest. “What’s ‘at?” He asks sleepily.

Bucky hesitates and for a moment, Steve wonders if he’ll even respond. Then Bucky’s hand stills and he says, simply, “It’s ‘I love you.’”

Steve hasn’t had an asthma attack in almost a year, but his chest suddenly feels tight and fluttery, like something is trying to burst out.

“Do it again,” Steve whispers, raspy and raw. 

Bucky twists his middle and ring fingers together, then draws the curved part of a “B” against Steve’s ribcage; a combination of their name signs that Bucky has decided translates into a declaration of love. Steve’s not an idiot; he knows what’s going on here. He’s stupid in love with Bucky, and there’s nothing that can be done about it.

They’re both fading fast, exhausted after a long few weeks and drained from the high emotions of the past hour. Steve lazily performs their new sign into Bucky’s upper arm. Bucky smiles against him, hides his face in the side of Steve’s torso, and then goes still. His breathing evens out and for the first time in a long time, Steve’s mind is quiet.

  


**January 1945:**  
The Commandos are essentially hopeless. This becomes clear to Bucky as he demonstrates the motion for “heavy bomber” to Morita for the third time. Falsworth is watching from behind Morita, so he probably forgot it too.

“God, you guys are lost causes,” Bucky declares.

“Gimme a break, Bucky,” Morita says. “You’ve been learning this stuff since you were wearin’ diapers. I’ve only had six months!”

“I dunno about you, Morita, but I sure as hell wasn’t in diapers when I was 7,” Bucky says. “Besides, we only made this one up six months ago. So ‘m pretty sure I’m just smarter than you.”

“Or maybe you’re a shitty teacher,” Falsworth suggests.

“Steve and I picked up signs faster than you lot when we were in second grade. I think the problem is what’s inside your skull,” Bucky says.

“Well you and Steve ain’t exactly a shining example of normal,” Morita points out.

“Yeah, what kinda little kids make up a fucking language, huh, Sarge?” Falsworth asks. It’s an often-repeated question.

“Smart ones, that’s who,” Bucky tells him.

“Is that what you guys call it?”

Just then, Steve returns with Dugan, Jones, Dernier, and a map. Bucky turns, smirking and does the “Captain America” motion: a salute with his middle and ring fingers twisted.

Over the course of the past year, the language has become infinitely more useful. They’ve made a great effort to teach the Commandos basic signs, as well as all the war-related signs they create. They spend a great deal of time behind enemy lines, where silence is the only option. Therefore, the Commandos can all reliably communicate and understand signs related to directions and numbers.

If Bucky motions “Six Germans coming from your west,” he can be confident the others will all understand. Despite this, the Commandos are not fluent by any stretch of the imagination. Lesser used signs, like the one for “heavy bomber,” only really stick in Steve and Bucky’s heads.

There is a certain unspoken “don’t ask, don’t tell” agreement between Steve and Bucky and the rest of the Commandos. It works well for them. The Howlies learn the signals they are shown and sometimes assist in creating new ones. But if they happen to witness unfamiliar signs between Steve and Bucky, they don’t push for a translation. When Steve insists he and Bucky need to talk privately for the third time in a week, Dernier raises his eyebrows at Jones. But he doesn’t comment, doesn’t alert their superiors.

So, they grow careless as months pass without incident. On the 8th day of 1945, they’re somewhere outside Strasbourg. The sun is low in the sky as they sit around their campsite. Morita messes with the radio; he’s been casually trying to intercept the same HYDRA line for a week now. Dernier and Falsworth are playing cards while Steve and Dugan poke sticks into the fire, teasing each other amicably. Bucky sits with them too but isn’t engaging. The year has gotten off to a stressful start and Bucky is keyed up. He chews his lip and stares across the fire at Steve until he looks up.

_‘Want,’_ Bucky signs. It’s only perceptible to someone who’s really looking for it. Besides, they’d never be stupid enough to teach the Commandos that signal.

Almost immediately, Steve announces, “I want to check out those little cabins we found. It’s probably nothing, but I just want to be sure.” He pretends to think and then adds, “Buck? Wanna go? It won’t take long.”

It’s always something new. Steve always wants to go over things again or discuss something or do a perimeter check. If they weren’t silly excuses to get Bucky alone, Steve would be the most paranoid captain in the Army’s history.

Bucky acts like he’s been inconvenienced. “Fine,” he sighs. No one remarks on it, so they start walking in the general direction of the little cabins they’d passed earlier.

As soon as he decides they’re far enough away, Bucky grabs Steve’s shirt. He backs him into a tree and kisses him roughly. “Won’t take long, huh?” He asks between kisses. His fingers are already playing with Steve’s waistband.

“Buck, this isn’t far enough,” Steve pants. He’s leaning back as far as he can with a tree behind his back and Bucky pressing into his front.

“Don’t care,” Bucky growls. “I want you.”

“So needy,” Steve teases, but he spreads his legs slightly so Bucky can work a thigh between them.

Bucky responds by turning his attention to Steve’s neck. His hand is splayed across one side, holding Steve still while he sucks sloppy kisses, letting his teeth drag. He licks the little spot behind Steve’s ear and feels him shiver in response. Bucky smirks, taking a handful of Steve’s shirt in his fist and shaking him a little. “God, I fucking love you,” he snarls into his ear. “Such a god damn tease, Stevie, I swear. You-”

Steve’s hand is suddenly against Bucky’s chest and he’s shoved squarely backwards. Bucky stumbles, cold at the loss of full-body contact. Before he can think, he’s spitting out, “What the fuck?” It’s only after, that he realizes Steve is staring at a point behind his back.

When Bucky whips around, Dugan is standing there, face blank. Bucky’s world tilts on its axis. In that moment, he is too overtaken by utter panic to say anything. He suspects Steve is experiencing the same thing because the two of them just stare dumbly back at Dugan.

All Dugan says is: “Morita got through.” Then he turns very quickly and walks away without them, and they both know that this is fucking bad. This is beyond bad. This is life-altering, world-stopping horrible. He can already see the headlines: “Captain America is a queer!” 

Bucky is already planning, as they walk back in silence, what he’ll tell them when they come asking. “I’m sick,” he’ll say. “I knew Steve didn’t want me back but I couldn’t help myself.” That’s what he’ll tell them. He’ll be twisted, sick Bucky Barnes who forced himself on the good and noble Captain America. Steve would kill Bucky himself right now if he could see inside his head, but he can’t and he won’t know Bucky’s plan until it’s too late.

Bucky would be dishonorably discharged a hundred times if that was all it took to keep Steve in a bubble. If he had to, he’d go to therapy and then lie with his hand on the Bible, swear it worked and that he was cured. And then, he’d probably be sent to Hell for all of eternity for it and he wouldn’t blink an eye.

Right before they make it back to camp, Steve stops and turns to Bucky. He slides his fingers through his own dog tags, which hang from Bucky’s neck. _‘We’ll figure this out,’_ he promises, but Bucky already has figured it out.

Their horrible fate isn’t awaiting them back at camp. Dugan is quiet, but the others don’t seem to have any clue that they’ve been hanging around a couple of queers for the past year. Bucky’s eyes meet Dugan’s for a second, asking.

Dugan shakes his head. He hasn’t told anyone yet. Maybe he didn’t want to ruin the joyous mood caused by Morita breaking the code. After all, Morita’s been at this one for a while now. It’d be kind of messed up to steal his giddiness away so quick just because Bucky couldn’t keep his perverse desires under control.

When the rest of the day passes without incident, it becomes a waiting game. Either Dugan is holding out for the right moment to destroy Steve and Bucky’s entire existences, or he pities them so much that he has decided to keep quiet. Confronting Dugan seems dangerous, as if actually uttering the words about what took place will tip the scales against them. Obviously, Dugan has not forgotten what he saw. Still, it feels like bringing it up to him might remind him or push him into acting. 

Bucky voices this logic when they discuss it that night, taking advantage of the tiny slot of alone time before bed. Steve argues for a while. Like everything else, he wants to face this issue head on.

Steve is a fighter, a dreamer. He’d climb up the Alps and scream his love for Bucky to the entire world if he didn’t think Bucky would be waiting at the bottom to strangle him when he climbed back down. If they lived in some other universe, Bucky would be up on that mountain with him. But Bucky has seen what this world-this time-does to people like them. They’ll be ripped to shreds, severed from each other and left with frayed edges. So, Steve must be prevented from throwing himself to the wolves.

Eventually, they reach a compromise. If their world is still intact tomorrow morning, they will confront Dugan.

Despite the seemingly world-shattering events of the day, the sun rises the next morning. They all sit around, eating breakfast together like usual. It’s like nothing ever happened. Steve and Bucky sit next to each other, only contributing to the group conversation enough as to not raise suspicion. Subtly, they have their own private exchange.

_‘We’re talking to him,’_ Steve signs. Their hands-Steve’s right and Bucky’s left-are strategically placed between them. It’s the most privacy they’re going to get and most of the signs can be done without attracting attention. After all, they were made to evade the eyes of their teachers.

_‘Fine,’_ Bucky replies. He’s not happy about it, but a deal is a deal.

Steve responds to Jones’ jab with one of this own, laughing like nothing strange is occurring. Then he signs to Bucky, _‘Right after this. We need to get him alone.’_

Bucky considers this. He makes a few teasing comments to the group before replying, _‘I want to talk to him alone.’_ The Commandos know the sign for “alone” but even if they do see, they’re not fluent enough to keep up or gather any real meaning from it.

_‘Why?’_

_‘Just trust me,’_ Bucky tells him. _‘Please?’_

Steve considers this. _‘Okay,’_ he signs.

After everyone finishes breakfast and begins moving about the campsite, Steve finds an excuse for Bucky and Dugan to be alone. They must write out reports after every battle and they’ve let a couple pile up. The moment he asks Bucky and Dugan to work on them, the look in Dugan’s eyes says he knows exactly what he’s being led into.

Still, he heads for his tent without question. Bucky follows him inside. As soon as they’re alone, Dugan turns around and waits for Bucky to start speaking.

“Steve ain’t like that,” Bucky says quickly. He’s practiced this in his head almost constantly for the past 24 hours. It’s still hard to get out. “I forced him.”

Dugan looks curiously back at Bucky. Carefully, he says, “Bucky, you’re my friend. Now you’re really gonna tell me that?” Though Bucky deserves disgust and cruelty, Dugan’s tone is neither of those things. On the contrary, it’s almost gentle.

“It’s true,” Bucky returns, almost threatening.

Dugan slowly nods his head. Then he looks up and there’s a strange pain in his eyes, like Bucky has rejected him or something. “Okay,” he agrees.

They don’t speak about it again.

***

“Hey, Steve and Bucky?” Jones asks. They’re huddled around a table instead of their usual fire, still awaiting orders from the higher ups. Bucky’s fine with them taking their sweet time. Being on base means being inside, sleeping in something resembling an actual bed. It means Steve’s captain’s quarters and a door with a lock.

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“Ya know, I’ve always wondered. How come you made up all these fucking hand signals but you never came up with a name for the damn thing?”

Bucky shrugs. “You got some genius idea?”

“Yeah, we’re open to suggestions,” Steve says.

“I got no clue,” Jones admits. “I’m just sayin’, what kinda language doesn’t have a name?”

Steve and Bucky look at each other, considering this. Jones has a point. They both think to themselves for a moment, but nothing immediately comes to mind.

“We’ll think about it,” Bucky says.

They get their next assignment first thing the next morning; they’re being sent to the Alps.

 

**September 2013:**  
Steve has had his fair share of nightmares but only one returns to him, time and time again.

In the dream, Bucky is lying in the snow and staring up at him with helpless eyes. Steve can’t see any major injuries on him, but he’s wearing that blue jacket he had in the war and it’s always soaked in blood. Bucky never speaks, just makes little choking sounds and spits up more blood. Then he raises one hand, middle and ring fingers twisted into Steve’s sign, to his cracked blue lips. He taps them, and then reaches out with his hand, calling out for Steve.

Steve thinks, sometimes, that he’s forgotten the language altogether. He’s never completely sure; it’s not like he has anybody to speak it with anymore. 

He speaks a little French, some German, and Nat’s taught him a handful of words in Russian. Every so often, Steve gets the multilingual version of intrusive thoughts. As he’s speaking English, the background of his brain supplies him with the translation of a word he’s just said. It’s not distracting but it does catch him by surprise at times. He buys a new pair of running shoes-he burns through them-and when he thanks the man behind the counter, some background part of his brain whispers, “merci.” He talks to Tony, references the sushi place on 181st street, and his brain gives him, “einhunderteinundachtzig.”

Steve appreciates the French and the German showing up in his mind; likes the little reminders that he knows more than English. He doesn’t know enough Russian to recall words regularly, but he’s a little impressed with himself every time they make an appearance.

Whenever the signs pop into his head unannounced, he feels like he could throw up.

As if his brain just wants to torture him, the signs come back to him more often than the Russian and the German and the French combined. Steve used that damn language for almost twenty years, and some part of him hasn’t yet figured out that it’s useless now. Nat, who speaks more languages than Steve could even name, told him once that there’s some kind of magic age when it comes to learning a new language. Since he was so young when they made up theirs, it’s probably drilled into his brain forever. 

He doesn’t get the chance to dwell further on this because there’s a knock at the door. It’s Natasha.

She has a freaky habit of showing up at Steve’s apartment when he’s just been thinking about her. When he tells her this, she smirks.

“Is that your way of telling me you missed me, Rogers?”

Steve shrugs. He hasn’t seen her in months and now that she brings it up, he did kind of miss her. Natasha hops up to sit on his kitchen counter. “So, what have you been up to? I mean, besides sitting around thinking about me.”

He shrugs again. Then, because she’s actually awaiting a reply, he says, “Tony made me an Instagram and I gotta say, I like it a lot better than Snapchat. Here, I’ll show you-” He pulls out his phone to open the app for her, and then he remembers something he’d been meaning to tell her. “Oh! And I checked out that painting class you sent me. It looks nice, I think I might sign up.”

Natasha takes Steve’s phone from his hand, studying the screen like she’s some kind of Instagram connoisseur. “Hm. Not bad,” she declares. 

When she hands his phone back, he’s following her private account. Or, one of them at least. “When does the class start?” She asks.

“In a couple weeks, I think.” He locks his phone and returns it to his back pocket. “I haven’t actually signed up yet. I probably will, just. It’s hundreds of dollars, Nat. I gotta think about it. I mean-”

“Steve. Sign up for the damn class before I hack into your bank account and sign you up for it myself,” she tells him seriously. Steve knows she’d do it, too.

Natasha hops off the counter and starts heading for the door. “C’mon, get on your shoes.”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“I’m starving, and I know you don’t have anything edible in here.”

She’s not wrong.

***

Natasha takes him to a restaurant where you cook your own food on a circular grill in the middle of the table. It seems kind of cheap to him.

“So, we’re paying 20 bucks to cook our own food?” He asks.

She rolls her eyes.

After the first few bites, Steve is convinced; the food is delicious. It’s all you can eat and the servers frequently check back to ask if they’d like to order more. The two of them polish off so many plates that Steve briefly wonders if they’ll get kicked out.

By the time they get back to Steve’s apartment, he feels like he could sleep for a day or two. “Food coma,” Natasha groans as she sinks into his couch.

They catch up while they recover. Natasha has been somewhere in Eastern Europe, doing who-knows-what. She shows him a small, healing scar on the inside of her left arm, and he thinks it must say something about him that this feels normal. She has brought back a little box, which she gently drops into his palm.

“For me?” He asks, eyebrows raised. She nods.

Inside the box is a set of five Russian nesting dolls. He unpacks them all, studying their little wooden faces. Their cheeks are painted a rosy pink. Each of their foreheads has a little blonde curl sweeping across it. The dolls’ dresses are covered in intricate, sky blue flowers; his favorite color.

For a brief, somewhat embarrassing moment, he feels like he could cry. He’s considered Natasha a friend for a while now, but the souvenir is such a sweet, genuine thing. The only other friend who was sweet to Steve like this is resting in the French Alps.

Natasha studies him, waves a hand when he thanks her. There’s no way she misses the way his eyes are a little misty, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she digs in the simple purse she brought until she produces a DVD.

“Just wait,” is all she says when he asks for the plot. “I think you’re gonna like this one.”

The movie is about a genius mathematician. He’s the kind of guy who might hang around Tony and Bruce, but he has even less social grace than Stark. For the first half, Steve figures it’s an alright movie. Then, the big reveal: the protagonist has schizophrenia. He’s been hallucinating his entire career along with about half the characters in the movie, including his best friend. It’s a happy ending, at least. The guy learns to live with his hallucinations, which mostly leave him alone.

“So?” Nat probes when the movie is finished. Steve usually comments on the movies she shows him, sometimes obnoxiously so. But he’s been quiet for the last half hour.

Steve squints at her in the semi-darkness of the room. “Nat?”

“Yes?”

“You’re real, right?”

She pinches his arm and laughs when he yelps. “You’re an idiot, Rogers,” she insists.

***

It’s barely 9 o’clock, but Steve starts getting ready for bed when Natasha leaves.

He still Googles “James Buchanan Barnes” from time to time, just to convince himself that Bucky was a real person. 

If Steve forgets a term in French or he thinks he’s incorrectly recalled a German phrase, the internet will resolve his mix-up. If he wants someone to correct his Russian, he’s got Nat and Clint. When it comes to their language, he’s never quite sure. They never wrote anything down, never even told anybody but their mothers and the Commandos. It was entirely in their heads. Or, maybe, it was entirely in _Steve’s_ head.

He tries to shake these thoughts as he lies down in bed. It’s just Nat’s movie getting into his head. Probably. Anyways, there’s no use worrying about it. Even if their signs were real at some point, they’re nothing but silly, dead things now. 

Steve falls asleep curled on his side and when he wakes up, his right hand is outstretched across the bed; palm down; thumb, pointer finger, and middle finger extended.

 

**June 2016:**  
Bucky has been back for five days and has not said a single word. 

When Steve speaks to him in English, he clearly understands but offers no response beyond simple nods or shakes of his head. Steve asks, in French, if he wants to watch a movie and he nods. He refuses to try the signs with Bucky; he doesn’t think he wants to know the answer.

Natasha comes over to speak to him. She tells him about her lunch in Russian and complains about the traffic in Japanese, then asks if he understands. Bucky nods. They go through Spanish, Italian, German, Mandarin, Korean, ASL, Swedish, and Arabic. Natasha pauses to think, then tells him in Hindi that it’s supposed to rain tomorrow. He nods without being prompted.

Natasha turns to Steve and shrugs. “I think I’m all out,” she admits.

Then one day, Steve asks if Bucky wants orange juice with breakfast and Bucky says, “Sure.” Steve stares for a second and wonders if he’s hearing things. But Bucky is just patiently sitting at the table; expectant, like Steve hasn’t just spent nearly two weeks trying to get him to speak.

Bucky isn’t exactly talkative after that, but he does talk. Sometimes, he even uses full sentences.

After language comes back, opinions follow closely. For the first two weeks, Bucky expresses no real opinion on anything at all. If Steve wants to order Chinese food, Bucky does too. When Sam comes over and suggests they watch House of Cards, Bucky agrees. He sits quietly and stares at the screen while it’s on.

Before, Bucky hated tomatoes with a passion. He said they were slimy and would pretend to gag if he was forced to witness someone else eating them. Last week, Steve offered Bucky a tomato from his salad. Bucky had taken it and chewed and swallowed with the same neutral expression he wears all day, every day.

Then Bucky starts talking, and a few days later he starts having opinions. 

It’s like all of his opinions from the past 70 years have been bottled up and are now coming out all at once. He eats sushi for breakfast, lunch, and dinner on Monday and then won’t even look at it on Tuesday. He watches two thirds of Grease and then decides that he doesn’t want to watch it anymore and furthermore, does not even want it on in the background. 

“Does he seem distressed when he does it? Or angry?” Sam asks when Steve explains this new development. They’re on a mission to try as many milkshake places as they can.

“No,” Steve replies. “I don’t know. Like, with the movie. It wasn’t even like it was bothering him. It was more like he just wanted to turn it off for the sake of doing it.”

Sam gives his mandatory out-of-my-element speech and then says, “Honestly? I think he’s just testing out the whole ‘having opinions’ thing. Maybe he wants to see if you’ll keep on letting him make ridiculous demands.”

“And you think I should?” Steve asks. “Let him make demands, I mean.”

“Yes,” Sam says, without hesitation.

When Steve returns from their little milkshake excursion, Bucky is sitting on the couch with Steve’s tablet in his hands. He peeks around Steve to check for Sam. Bucky and Sam have an odd relationship. Sam is the only person who Bucky has openly threatened to kill since he returned. He’s also the only person-besides Steve-who Bucky will leave the apartment with.

In lieu of a greeting, Bucky holds out the tablet to Steve. It looks like he’s been reading a book. “I don’t like this,” he explains. He usually avoids pronouns when he speaks about himself, so Steve takes note that he included “I” this time.

“Okay,” Steve says. He takes the tablet from Bucky. Steve got a chocolate milkshake for him from the last place he and Sam had wandered into. He offers the Styrofoam cup to Bucky, who accepts it and takes a cautious sip. Steve says a silent prayer. Bucky doesn’t immediately reject it, so that’s a success.

Steve sits down next to Bucky and brings the tablet up so they can both see the screen. “Do you not like the tablet or the book?”

“Book,” Bucky says. He scoots closer to have a better look at the screen. His shoulder brushes Steve’s.

“If you don’t want it to show up anymore, you can tap here. See?” Steve taps the little trashcan and the tablet gives him a message asking if he’s sure he wants to delete the book from his library. He taps “yes” and the book disappears. He holds the tablet out to Bucky but Bucky shakes his head.

“Don’t want to read anymore,” he says. At least he’s still drinking the milkshake.

“Okay. What do you wanna do?”

Bucky thinks, chewing the straw between his teeth like he’s done his whole life. His ma used to scold him for it, said it would mess up his teeth or something. After a minute, Bucky asks, “House of Cards?”

“Sure,” Steve says. He sets up the PlayStation that Nat got him, insisting that it was better than his old Xbox. Honestly, Steve doesn’t really notice the difference; as long as it plays Netflix, he’s happy.

They watch Frank Underwood eat Zoey Barnes out while she’s on the phone with her father. Steve’s seen this episode before; he and Sam are well into season 3. But Bucky’s just started the series and he watches with rapt attention. For some reason, Bucky has never changed his mind about House of Cards; he watched the first episode earlier this week, declared that he liked it, and has been invested ever since. 

So, Bucky watches House of Cards and Steve watches Bucky.

“His wife. She knows he’s with that girl Zoey. Right?”

“Right,” Steve confirms.

“Is that common?” He asks.

“I don’t think so,” Steve replies honestly.

Bucky finishes his milkshake while they watch the next episode.

The peace doesn’t last. Bucky doesn’t know what he wants for dinner, so Steve pulls up Yelp on his laptop. He searches “Italian” and scrolls through the list for a while, then glances over at Bucky.

“No,” Bucky says.

Steve searches “Mexican” and scrolls. Bucky shakes his head. Steve tries “sushi,” “pizza,” and “Chinese.” Bucky refuses every option.

“How about this one?” Steve points to a restaurant he recognizes. “It has five stars and I’ve been here. It’s good.”

“No,” Bucky says. Steve purses his lips in barely contained frustration. Bucky leans away from the laptop. “Don’t want to eat right now,” he says.

“Bucky,” Steve says seriously, looking him in the eyes. “All you’ve had since breakfast is that milkshake. You gotta eat something.”

“Don’t want to eat right now,” Bucky repeats.

“Fine,” Steve snaps. “Don’t eat then.”

He orders a large pepperoni pizza with breadsticks and two cookies-enough for both of them. When the food arrives, Steve brings it to the dining room table and plays on his phone while he eats. Bucky sits stubbornly on the couch. He hasn’t said a word since insisting that he wouldn’t eat.

Steve finishes eating but stays at the table. If Bucky wants to starve himself, so be it. Twenty minutes pass and the leftover pizza goes cold. Bucky flips through the tablet. He’s found a new book that he apparently likes-for now-and pretends to be absorbed in it.

Ten more minutes go by and Steve is about to give up for the night, put the pizza away and hope that Bucky will at least eat breakfast tomorrow. Then he hears Bucky put the tablet down. Steve keeps his eyes on his phone while all his focus is on the approaching footsteps. When Bucky reaches him, he looks up.

“Can I?” He asks, looking pointed at the closed pizza box.

“Of course,” Steve says.

Bucky opens the lid and takes a slice. He eats it cold and licks his thumb after he swallows the last of the crust. He should really be taking in more calories than whatever is in one piece of pizza, but it’s something. Steve will take the small victory.

“Thanks, Buck,” he whispers.

Bucky studies his face for a moment, like he’s trying to puzzle something out. Then he leans his head against Steve’s shoulder. It feels like an apology.

***

It’s starting to cool down by the time Bucky’s opinions level out. Steve feels somewhat guilty but he’s so relieved _that_ is over. Compliant, non-verbal Bucky was by far the worst but stubborn, overly opinionated Bucky wasn’t a walk in the park either. 

Now that he has consistent likes and dislikes, they get into a routine. Bucky likes the gym but hates going for runs-that is, unless Sam is there. Going for coffee is a surefire way to get him out of the apartment. He’s not opposed to going to the Tower, but’s not overly enthusiastic either. He agrees to go to therapy regularly, but won’t do more than two sessions per week.

Though Bucky is more open nowadays, it can still forever to find a restaurant that he and Steve agree on. Add Sam into the mix and the situation is almost hopeless.

“Okay so pineapple and what else?” Sam asks, a takeout menu in one hand and his phone in the other. Sam doesn’t like pineapple on pizza but he knows that Bucky detests it.

“No,” Bucky says without looking up away from the screen. He and Steve are currently engaged in a rather intense Mario Kart race.

Sam pointedly ignores Bucky. “Oh and look, they have these little tomatoes you can put on top. Sooo we’re definitely getting those.”

“No, we’re not,” Bucky states. He beats Steve, but just barely. It’s Sam’s turn but Bucky hangs onto the controller and says, “I don’t like tomatoes.”

“Alright, princess.” Sam raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes as if to say, “yikes.”

Bucky turns, looks Sam right in the eyes and says, “T'es rien qu'un petit connard.” Steve, who has been willfully ignoring them, snickers.

“Uh huh, okay. Real original, Barnes. You’ve only pulled this trick, like, 12 times in the past week.”

Bucky says, “Du atomunfall.” 

Sam ignores him. Instead, he dials the restaurant’s number and puts the phone to his ear, smiling at Bucky the entire time. “Hi, yeah, I’ll have two large pepperoni pizzas please. Yeah. And can we get some of those little tomatoes?”

Steve is literally eating popcorn as he watches them. They made it earlier and it’s kind of cold, but he’s hungry and this is even better entertainment than his Netflix shows. He shoves the last pieces into his mouth and gets up to retrieve some water from the kitchen.

“Kono baka yarō me,” Bucky says, staring at Sam with what can only be described as a murderous expression. He sees Steve getting up, holds his empty glass up, and asks, “Me too, Stevie?” Steve nods and takes their glasses to the kitchen.

“Yeah, just add as many of those tomatoes as you can,” Sam tells the employee on the other end. “Perfect. Yep, that’s it. Okay, thanks. Bye.”

He presses the end call button, leans back into the couch, and grins at Bucky.

Bucky gives his best Winter Solider scowl. “Иди на хуй,” he says.

Their pizzas arrive littered with mini tomatoes.

Bucky meticulously picks off every single tomato from his pizza and makes a mountain of them on his plate. There are so many that Steve gets him a separate plate just for his discarded tomatoes. Occasionally, Bucky digs around for the biggest one he can find. He throws those at Sam.

“Alright. But real question, JB,” Sam says mid-way through dinner. “How come you don’t like tomatoes but you eat the sauce? You know, it’s made of tomatoes.”

Bucky pinches a mini tomato between his metal fingers and Sam waits. Truthfully, Sam ordered these messed up pizzas because he knows Bucky hated tomatoes before Hydra. There are some things Bucky refuses to eat for more serious reasons and Sam would never even dream of bringing those around. 

Hell, Sam has done some gross stuff for Bucky.

Sam once spent an afternoon taking tiny bites from every chocolate that Bucky wanted to eat. Steve had been tied up in Avengers business and, well, somebody had to protect the world’s deadliest assassin from coconut.

One by one, Bucky had handed over his precious chocolates for Sam to test. “Don’t eat too much,” he’d said. “You didn’t bite far enough,” he’d said. But each time they discovered peanut butter-Sam’s favorite-Bucky had handed it back for Sam to finish. Bucky could be sweet like that. Sometimes. Most of the time, he was just a pain in Sam’s ass.

Now, Bucky appears to be considering Sam’s question carefully. “The sauce doesn’t taste like shit,” he says, finally. “What do they add to it? To make it not taste like shit.”

“A bunch of sugar, I think. Probably some other stuff too,” Sam replies.

Bucky uses his metal hand to squeeze another tomato, letting the red juice drip from his fingers. He’s frowning at it like it’s offended him or something. “Buck,” Steve scolds, “stop that.” He hands a napkin to Bucky, who takes it easily and wipes off his fingers.

“Oh, now you tell him to stop. Where were you when he was assaulting me with flying projectiles?” Sam complains.

Bucky picks another tomato from the pile on his plate and throws it at Sam. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam swears he sees Steve smiling at Bucky. Traitor.

***

Sam sleeps on their couch that night and spends most of the next day with them. The three of them manage a mildly peaceful lunch together before Sam has to leave for his sister’s. He hugs Steve goodbye.

Even Sam isn’t stupid enough to try and hug Bucky. Instead, he says, “Don’t murder anybody while I’m gone, JB.”

“The only one I feel like murdering is you,” Bucky responds.

With Sam gone, it feels instantly quieter. Steve is deeply invested in the plot of some new book and he spends most of the day reading. Sam made Bucky a new Spotify playlist before he left, so Bucky dutifully listens to it in-between watching strange YouTube videos from the “suggested” section of his profile. 

After dinner, Bucky turns on House of Cards. He is watching it for the third consecutive time while he waits for new episodes. He’s got most of the dialogue memorized by now. 

Beside him, Steve has his sketchbook open. Bucky says, “Draw Frank, but Russian.” 

A few minutes later, he gets a little sketch of Frank Underwood with a ushanka on his head. There’s a bear lying next to Frank, pierced with a huge spear.

“You didn’t draw enough blood. Something so big bleeds a lot more when it dies,” Bucky comments.

Steve scowls at him. He doesn’t like it when Bucky says things like that.

This time, he doesn’t verbally acknowledge it. Just doodles quietly for a moment and then says, “Yesterday, when Sam was ordering all those tomatoes. What were you calling him?”

It’s a strange thing to ask, Bucky thinks. But whatever. “Just a bunch of nasty things,” he says.

“In what languages?”

“Well you understood the French. Then German, Russian, and…” Bucky has to think back. He wasn’t really preparing what he said to Sam; just kind of spit things out as they came into his head. Maybe Steve thinks he was being too mean. “And Japanese,” he finishes.

Steve makes a little noise of acknowledgement. “How many languages do you know?” The question is innocuous but there’s something in his tone that Bucky can’t place. He gets the distinct feeling that there’s something else going on here.

Bucky shrugs. “I dunno. I usually have to hear it spoken first. Then I can tell if I know it or not.”

“Hm,” Steve says. Bucky is definitely missing something. 

Steve avoids eye contact when he’s trying to hide things and he hasn’t looked up from his sketchbook since he asked what Bucky was calling Sam. Bucky wants to question him about it but some part of him knows that he shouldn’t have to ask. Suddenly, going into his room and locking the door sounds a lot more appealing than House of Cards.

Frustrated, Bucky clenches his right hand. He squeezes it so hard, his whole fist shakes. When that’s not enough, he takes his metal fingers and pinches the flesh of his pointer finger, hard.

Steve notices what he’s doing when a little drop of blood forms on his finger. He tosses his sketchbook aside and takes Bucky’s hand in both of his. 

“Buck, stop,” he commands. Bucky lets him pry the metal fingers off but keeps his flesh hand in a tight fist. It’s all red and hurting now. Good. Steve switches to a pleading tone and says, “C’mon. Let go.”

Bucky counts to five slowly in his head and then lets Steve open his hand. There are little bloody crescents in his palm. This happens frequently but this time, Steve drops Bucky’s hand like he’s been burned. 

Bucky looks down and sees that his middle finger is twisted with his ring finger. Huh. He didn’t do that intentionally, but he wakes up with his hand like that sometimes.

He untwists them and when he looks up, Steve is pale and fixated on Bucky’s hand. 

“Bucky, why was your hand like that?” Steve chokes out.

“I guess I just got frustrated,” Bucky explains. This is usually the part where Steve gets up and insists on treating Bucky’s tiny cuts, as if they won’t heal in an hour anyways. When he doesn’t move, Bucky adds, “It doesn’t hurt.”

Steve nods and stands up silently. He returns with a little wet cloth and cleans Bucky’s hand but it’s almost robotic. This is the most confusing interaction Bucky has had in a while.

Eventually, Steve takes the cloth away. He announces that he’s going to shower and leaves.

On the screen in front of Bucky, Frank Underwood is ruining the career of some Congressman. He tries to watch but his mind keeps going over and over what just happened. It wasn’t the insults that Steve was focused on; that was only a way to ask about Bucky speaking foreign languages. 

There’s a link somewhere, just out of Bucky’s reach. He stares down at his hand; the cuts have already begun to fade. It’s kind of fucked up, but Bucky hurts himself in little ways all the time. While it obviously bothers Steve a lot, it doesn’t shock him anymore. It certainly doesn’t cause him to go all pale and then flee the room.

Bucky twists his fingers into the position that seemed to freak Steve out so much. He untwists them and then twists them again, and repeats, repeats, repeats.

***

Later that night, when Bucky remembers, he can’t comprehend how he ever forgot.

He remembers Steve’s tiny hand splayed out for him, offering up a slingshot he’d made for Bucky’s 8th birthday; _‘yours.’_ He remembers that same hand-much bigger now-and that same motion in the shoddy lighting of the captain’s quarters; _‘yours.’_ He remembers how Dum Dum always mixed up the signs for “C” and “D.” How Falsworth had to be reminded of how to sign “west” at least 4 times before he got it.

The truth is, Bucky forgot because they beat it out of him. They couldn’t figure it out and the Winter Solider doesn’t have secrets. They brought in translator after translator and when that didn’t work, they brought in the branding irons and the ice baths. He forgot because the last time he signed Steve’s name, they slashed him open from the tip of his middle finger to the crease of his arm and let his arteries drain onto the concrete floor he was chained to.

Bucky gets out of bed.

***

Steve startles awake, heart pounding. He’s already got one hand on the shield before he realizes it’s only Bucky in the doorway. He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him, a little more put together than he usually is when he wakes up from a nightmare.

“Buck?” He asks sleepily, sitting up in bed. The clock shows 2:43am. For some ungodly reason, Bucky makes a beeline for the bedside table and turns on the lamp. Steve squints in the sudden brightness as Bucky climbs onto the bed. He positions himself directly in front of Steve, legs crossed like they used to sit for story time.

Bucky holds up his right hand in front of Steve’s face. His middle and ring fingers are twisted together and all Steve can do is blink at him. Thirty seconds ago, he was fast asleep and now here is Bucky, saying his name in a secret language that they haven’t used in 70 years. He’s not entirely convinced that he’s awake.

Bucky brings his fingers to his bottom lip and flicks it away. _‘Steve. Why didn’t you tell me?’_

Steve feels like he could cry, or maybe scream. Maybe both, at the same time. “I-I didn’t know how, Buck,” he confesses. How do you tell your best friend, who just came back from the dead, that he’s supposed to be fluent in something he doesn’t even know exists? “How much do you remember?” He asks out loud.

_‘All of it,’_ Bucky signs.

_‘Yeah?’_

_‘Yes. And I remember the other stuff too. Why didn’t you tell me?’_

_‘What other stuff?’_

“Don’t play stupid,” Bucky tells him. He leans forward on his hands, gets right in Steve’s face. His tone is softer when he says, “I had to do this last time. It’s your turn.”

Steve’s face splits into a grin. How did he get so lucky? For as long as he can remember, Bucky has been the kind of person that everyone wants to be around. Steve figures a person like Bucky comes around maybe once or twice in a century, or even a millennium. He’s something special; a rarity. And Steve’s won the fucking lottery.

He kisses Bucky then and it’s soothing, like piling yourself under blankets in a cool room while rain drips onto the roof. His heart is pounding but he’s calm and there’s no better feeling than Bucky’s warm fingers against his bare arm, pulling him in.

Steve feels like his real age again-not the one his birth certificate shows, but the actual number of years he has lived. He kisses Bucky’s cheek, letting his lips linger there. Bucky taps his pointer and middle finger to his nose twice. They never discussed this sign, but it means something like _‘give me a kiss here.’_ Steve does, and then Bucky taps his lips and Steve drops a kiss there too.

Eventually, they pull back, beaming at each other like idiots.

_‘Stay,’_ Steve motions.

_‘Yes,’_ Bucky responds, _‘of course.’_

***

Steve wakes up warmer than usual. When he goes to turn his head to the side, he finds that Bucky’s hair is brushing his cheek. Bucky’s metal hand contracts slightly against Steve’s chest but he doesn’t wake up. It feels strangely vulnerable.

Steve lies perfectly still and tries to keep his breathing slow so he can watch Bucky sleep for a little longer. Bucky’s mouth is slightly open, lips pressed into Steve’s side. A few strands of his hair are brushing his long eyelashes and Steve has the urge to brush them away. He holds back for a few more minutes, lets Bucky get a few more precious moments of undisturbed sleep. They both slept through the night, so Steve only feels a little guilty when he reaches up and tucks Bucky’s hair behind his ear.

As expected, Bucky’s eyes blink open. He frowns and lifts his head, squinting as he takes in his surroundings.

“Morning, Buck,” Steve says, smiling and rough.

Bucky doesn’t respond. He lets his head fall back onto Steve’s shoulder and then burrows his face into Steve’s side. Bucky is basically face down in his armpit and it would probably be gross if he didn’t love Bucky as much as he does. Bucky’s metal arm feels around until he finds Steve’s hand. He places it on the back of his own head.

Complying, Steve runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. He combs out the tangles and then twirls one of the soft strands loosely around his finger. Bucky is so still for so long that Steve is not even sure if he’s still awake. So, it’s only somewhat of a risk when he drags twisted fingers in two curves onto Bucky’s back, signing _‘I love you.’_

Nothing happens for a beat.

“Love you too,” Bucky responds. It’s quiet and muffled against Steve’s body. Steve kisses the top of Bucky’s head and thanks God that, for whatever reason, he was entrusted with the miracle that is Bucky Barnes.

 

**December 2016:**  
For someone with memory and identity issues, Bucky has an excessive number of nicknames. This is especially apparent when they’re around the Avengers.

Christmas is in less than a week and everyone has descended upon the Tower at Tony and Pepper’s insistence. Even though they live less than 20 minutes away, Steve and Bucky are not exempt. It’s strange and feels a little bit like a forced sleepaway camp, but nobody really dares to put up a fight with Pepper. 

If Steve is honest, he’s kind of missed being around the Avengers anyways. He also enjoys watching Bucky answer to no less than 3 different names per day.

Of course, to Steve, he’s “Bucky” or just “Buck.” A few of their signs are essentially terms of affection, but they don’t use those around other people. Sometimes, if Steve is really angry with him, he becomes “James Buchanan.” With Natasha, he’s usually “Sasha.” It’s what she called him when he trained her as a child. Sam calls him “JB,” which he made up as a middle ground between “Bucky” and “Barnes.” The former seemed too affectionate while the latter was too impersonal; so, “JB” it was. Everyone uses “Barnes” from time to time. Thor insists on “Friend Barnes,” because he tried “Friend James” and Bucky refused to acknowledge it. JARVIS is programmed to call him “Sargent Barnes.” Tony rotates through several different nicknames, some kinder than others.

Even if the lesser used nicknames are excluded-Steve rarely gets angry enough to switch to his full name-Bucky responds to a lot of titles. It’s a little ridiculous.

Tony points this out after Bucky has been addressed in three different ways in the past two minutes. “Jesus Christ, can’t you all just agree on one thing to call the man?” Everyone is sitting around the oversized dining room table. Thor is the only one absent-he’s gone to England for a few days but promised he will return before Christmas Eve.

“Says the guy who calls him, like, 8 different un-funny things,” Sam mutters.

“I heard that!” Tony shouts.

“We should all just call him ‘Barnes.’ It’s easy,” Clint says. Steve looks like they just agreed to saw Bucky’s arm off without anesthesia.

“Nah, ‘Barnes’ is boring,” Sam argues. “He doesn’t look like a ‘Barnes.’ He looks like a ‘JB.’”

“Sam, ‘JB’ is stupid,” Natasha says flatly. She turns to Bucky and then says, “Honestly, Sasha, I’m surprised you even respond to such an inferior nickname.”

“Hey!” Sam cries. When Steve pointedly laughs to himself, he adds, “Got something to say, Cap?”

Steve shakes his head, smirking. “No. It’s just cute how passionately you’re all arguing for second place.”

“We get it,” Tony groans. “You guys are best friends, or soulmates or whatever.”

“Soulmates or whatever,” Clint quotes.

Tony ignores him in favor of saying, “Bruce! You’ve been awfully quiet over there. You wanna chime in?”

“No way. I’m staying out of this one,” Bruce says.

It’s strange, Bucky thinks, to hear all these people arguing over him. He hasn’t been around such a raucous group since the Commandos, and he’s still missing big chunks from that time. Now, he feels like the Avengers’ new toy. The only ones he knows well are Sam and Natasha. Until a few days ago, he’d only met Tony three times and had one conversation with Bruce and Clint. Thor was a complete stranger-he still kind of is. 

He’s the new kid at school and they’re all curious. It’s a little overwhelming, but not obnoxious.

Later, as if he’s read Bucky’s mind, Steve asks him about it. “Does it bother you? When they argue about you like that?”

They’re back on Steve’s floor and Bucky is sitting between Steve’s legs, back to chest. Tony had offered to make Bucky his own floor but Steve had told him it wasn’t necessary. Tony had waggled his eyebrows and then ran off, saying he needed to find Clint. Tony is strange.

In response, Bucky just shakes his head. It disturbs Steve’s work just a touch; he is unbraiding Bucky’s hair.

“If you change your mind, lemme know. I know they can be a lot to handle,” Steve says. He runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. The braid has left it in loose curls. He brushes the hair from one side of Bucky’s neck and then places a light kiss there.

“They’re alright,” Bucky says.

Steve leaves a little trail of kisses down Bucky’s neck. It feels nice. “They like you too,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky turns around in his arms, legs hooked over Steve’s thighs. He kisses Steve lazily, playfully biting at his bottom lip until he makes a little noise. Bucky smiles, Steve’s lip still between his teeth. Then he releases it and pulls back so he can look at him.

Steve drags a finger down Bucky’s jaw. “Bed?” He asks.

“Shower,” Bucky corrects.

Steve raises his eyebrows in question.

Bucky’s already climbing off Steve and standing up. “The building,” Bucky explains. Steve shakes his head, grinning at Bucky. He’s told Bucky time and time again that JARVIS doesn’t watch them but Bucky won’t be convinced. Part of him wants to say, “What makes you think he doesn’t watch the shower?” But he doesn’t even want to plant the idea in Bucky’s head. 

Bucky offers him his left hand, waving his metal fingers suggestively. Steve takes it in his own and lets himself be pulled down the hall.

***

Christmas itself is relatively quiet. 

Exchanging gifts would have only been a hassle for everyone involved, so they all promised months ago to forgo the tradition entirely. Some pairs-Steve and Bucky, Clint and Natasha, Sam and Steve, Tony and Bruce-have secretly broken this promise. Nevertheless, there’s no mass gift opening on Christmas morning and they’re fine with that.

They watch Spirited Away and it sets off a Miyazaki-themed movie marathon. They get through My Neighbor Totoro and Princess Mononoke before an argument breaks out. Clint makes an entire speech for Castle in the Sky. No one has seen Ponyo and Tony wants to watch it.

“What about Grave of the Fireflies?” Natasha suggests. The room-minus Bucky and Thor, who have no idea what is going on-dissolves into offended shouts.

“That’s honestly one of the most fucked up things you have ever said,” Tony says. For once, Steve doesn’t think that Tony is being dramatic at all.

They argue until it becomes repetitive and less fun. Then, Clint suggests they recess for dinner and everyone heads into the kitchen to argue about restaurants instead. Sam returns from his mom’s in the middle of this second bickering session, having already ate. He plops down on the couch next to Bucky and Bruce, who don’t typically get involved in the daily team disputes.

“I will not subject my taste buds to that place again, Clint,” Tony says. Instead of looking for restaurant ideas, he’s making constant comments on everyone else’s suggestions and tossing his phone into the air.

“Agreed,” Natasha adds. Her phone is in her left hand and she’s bent over the breakfast bar, scrolling through Yelp.

Steve is sitting on the arm of the couch, facing the kitchen. “I didn’t think that place was that bad,” he says.

“Well, Cap, you also ate boiled potatoes for most of your life,” Tony points out. He throws his phone up, catches it, and then throws it again; it steadily goes higher and higher each time. 

Clint, who is actually contributing to their search, seems to think of something. He asks, “What was the name of that sushi place we got that one time that I had that burn on my hand?”

“New Ichiro,” Natasha says. “Yeah, I’d eat that.”

“But we just had sushi,” Tony whines.

Natasha snaps something at him but she can’t be heard over the crack of the overhead light shattering. Rounded glass spheres rain down on Tony as his phone smacks against the tiled floor. Steve is vaguely aware that his arm is hurting but his eyes are on Tony, who looks up, horrified.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry,” he sputters, and Tony never, ever stammers like that. When Steve looks down at the source of pain in his arm, it’s clear why.

Bucky’s metal fingers are wrapped around it, gripping hard. He’s positioned himself between Steve and Tony-the source of the sound. He doesn’t have any weapons but they all know he doesn’t need them. The vibe of playful banter is instantly gone.

Steve forces himself to remain calm; he cannot let this situation escalate any further, it’s just not an option. “Buck?” He asks, knowing damn well he won’t get an answer. Bucky is somewhere far, far from the kitchen of the Tower.

Bruce has already left the room. Tony is still speaking franticly and Natasha hisses at him to “shut the fuck up, Tony.” For once, he listens. Clint drags him out of the room.

Steve carefully stands up and moves in front of Bucky, who is staring through him with wide, scared eyes. “Bucky,” he says. Nothing. With the hand that’s not being held in place by Bucky’s metal grip, he signs, _‘Bucky.’_ He says it out loud again too, just for good measure.

Somewhere, he knows that Sam and Nat are still in the room and very much watching them; but that matters very little to Steve right now. When it comes down to it, Bucky has always responded better to the signs than verbal requests. 

Bucky blinks. Then takes a huge, gasping breath like he’s coming up from underwater. The pressure of his metal fingers disappears from Steve’s arm. When Bucky starts hyperventilating, Steve knows what he’s about to do. But Bucky’s reflexes are too quick and the flesh of his right thumb is between his teeth before Steve can intercept it.

It’s Bucky’s favorite, desperate grounding technique. Blood immediately starts to ooze from where his teeth are piercing his thumb. It dribbles down the flesh of his palm and forms a tiny, maroon stream down his wrist.

“Bucky, stop,” Steve begs, gently taking his wrist and giving it a little tug. He knows he won’t get it free until Bucky wants him to, but it’s instinctive to try. He uses the other hand to say, _‘no’_ and then, _‘stop.’_

Sam appears at Steve’s side, offering him an ice cube. Steve takes it graciously. He really doesn’t appreciate Sam the way he should.

_‘Please let go,’_ Steve says, “take this instead.” He shows Bucky the ice cube.

While his jaw remains locked, the blood flow eases. He’s reduced the pressure and will probably not bite completely through his own thumb. Steve will take the small blessing. Bucky’s eyes flick to the ice cube. “Here, c’mon. _‘Bucky, open your mouth.’_ Please.”

Slowly, Bucky slackens his jaw. It feels like minutes pass but eventually, he lets his bloodied and gnarled thumb fall from his lips. The first chance Steve gets, he slips the ice cube onto Bucky’s tongue.

It’s quite a gruesome scene; blood dribbles down Bucky’s chin, his lips are slick with it. Natasha and Sam are still on standby. Their body language makes it clear that they want to move in and do something about Bucky’s hand. It hangs limply at his side now, quivering violently and dipping blood onto the living room floor.

_‘Can_ “Natasha and Sam” _touch your hand?’_ Steve asks.

_‘Yes,’_ Bucky motions with the metal hand. Steve nods at Natasha and Sam, who gently begin wrapping Bucky’s thumb. Nat must have made a trip to the bathroom at some point because they have all kinds of first aid supplies.

_‘Thank you, Bucky,’_ Steve tells him.

_‘Sorry,’_ Bucky says.

_‘No, no, no. Don’t say sorry.’_

Bucky is quiet and still for a moment, watching Sam and Nat work on his hand. Frankly, he looks disturbingly detached from the entire situation.

_‘More,’_ Bucky signs. Steve looks confused, so he adds, _‘Cold.’_

“Sam,” Steve says. His voice is as stable and calm as he can manage. “Could you please get us another ice cube?”

Sam disappears into the kitchen. While he’s gone, Steve holds up his palm straight out in a “stop” motion. He brings all four fingers down twice, rapidly tapping his palm before resuming the “stop” position. This sign was created specifically for times like this; it could be roughly translated as, “how are you doing?”

Bucky drags a metal finger down Steve’s palm once. _‘Not good.’_ Steve could have guessed as much.

Sam returns with a full tray of ice cubes and a handful of damp paper towels. He digs an ice cube out and Bucky opens his mouth a little. To Sam’s credit, his shock at the blatant display of trust is barely perceptible. He hesitates for a split second, glancing at Steve before gently placing the ice in Bucky’s mouth. 

Steve takes the paper towels from Sam; they’ve been rinsed with warm water instead of cold. He wipes the blood from Bucky’s mouth and chin. It’s rushed and far from perfect, but at least Bucky no longer looks like a vampire or a cannibal. Sam hands the tray to Steve, then takes the bloodied paper towels back and disappears to discard them.

Bucky swishes the ice around in his mouth for a moment, as Nat finishes with his hand. As soon as she steps back, Bucky motions, _‘I want to leave.’_ It’s one of the few full sentences that can be conveyed in a single gesture, meant for Bucky to utilize it as he is now.

“Okay, let’s go,” Steve replies, signing as he speaks. Bucky grabs for Steve’s hand with his uninjured one. Nodding his thanks at Sam and Nat, Steve leads Bucky towards the elevator. His metal grasp is a touch too tight but it goes unmentioned. 

Inside the elevator, Steve stabs the “close doors” button with his elbow. His hands are currently occupied with Bucky and the tray of ice cubes. The doors slide shut and then they’re alone. Steve lets himself really study Bucky as the elevator moves. Traces of blood remain on his chin and his shirt is a total loss. His right hand hasn’t stopped shaking.

There is usually about a twenty-minute delay between the time Bucky starts responding with signs and when he starts verbalizing again. This time, Steve counts twenty-three minutes.

Steve does the sign for “how are you doing?” again. He’s been incredibly restrained with it, only having asked Bucky twice since they returned to their floor.

Swiftly, Bucky lunges forward and covers Steve’s hands with both of his own. “Stop that,” he hisses, irritated.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Speak out loud,” Bucky commands. He looks purposely towards the ceiling, where JARVIS’ voice comes from. Then he releases Steve’s hand and stands up, pacing the room. Steve remains on the couch, eyes following Bucky back and forth. Bucky is not going to be convinced about JARVIS so, Steve stays quiet.

“Your friends were scared of me,” Bucky finally says.

“They’re your friends too,” Steve points out. “And they weren’t scared of you.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, just jumps into his next thought as if Steve never spoke at all. “Now they think I’m fucking crazy. I am, you know,” he says.

“Buck, no one is thinking that, I promise you. Everyone in this Tower has gone through the same thing.”

Apparently, that wasn’t the right thing to say. Bucky stops pacing for a moment to yell, “Everyone in this Tower has almost bitten their thumb off because a light broke?” He opens and closes his wounded hand, flexing his thumb. It’s going to need a new bandage very soon if he keeps that up.

“C’mon, Buck, don’t move your hand,” Steve urges him. He moves to sign _‘please’_ but he remembers Bucky’s issues with JARVIS and stops himself.

Bucky sees it anyways. His hand stops flexing and his eyes zone in on the aborted motion. He scowls at Steve, whom he knows doesn’t share his distrust of JARVIS. “We’ll be lucky if it hasn’t figured everything out already. After the living room,” Bucky bites out. He turns, pacing again. “We’ve been fucking stupid. It’s probably caught on now.”

Steve lets him rant for a minute. When there’s a lasting pause, Steve speaks. “We haven’t done enough for him to catch on.”

“You don’t know that,” Bucky snaps.

“Well, do you want to leave? We could go home,” Steve suggests.

Bucky sighs and stops pacing. He closes his right hand halfway before realizing what he’s doing. Everything about him seems deflated and he comes back to sit beside Steve on the couch again.

“I want to stay. I like your friends,” Bucky says. Steve opens his mouth to insist that they are Bucky’s friends too. So, Bucky holds up a hand to stop him. Even though some part of him knows it’s true, he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t deserve to hear it, let alone to have it be true.

Steve’s hand comes up to rest on the back of Bucky’s neck. “The JARVIS thing really bothers you, huh?”

Bucky nods. “You don’t get it. This ain’t like the Commandos where we could pick and choose. If this building figures it out then that means Stark’s got the full translations,” he explains.

Bucky is half-right; Steve doesn’t fully understand. Bucky’s intense paranoia stems from Hydra and their translators. They are fairly sure that no one ever figured it out. Bucky wasn’t lucid enough to remember, but he doesn’t recall doing more than a handful of signs for them. Still, the uncertainly drives Bucky up the wall.

Occasionally, Steve becomes aware that teaching the Avengers a few basic signs could be useful. And there’s no real risk to it; there’s never a downside to extra communication between teammates. Not to mention, it would be entertaining to see the more competent ones tease the less skilled.

Bucky rests his head on Steve’s shoulder and threads his metal fingers through Steve’s. Steve kisses his hair and doesn’t say anything. That conversation can wait a little longer.

***

Even though they’re officially on holiday, Steve needs a run after the past 24 hours. His alarm clock goes off at 6am, much to Bucky’s displeasure. He gets ready and then kisses Bucky’s forehead before leaving their floor; it’s half “goodbye” and half “sorry for waking you up.”

Bucky really doesn’t handle mornings well.

Steve heads to the kitchen for his water bottle. He’s already digging through the dishwasher before he becomes aware that he’s not alone. Not even a second later, Steve’s turned around with a butcher knife in his hand.

It’s Natasha.

He lowers the knife, letting out a breath. “Jesus, Nat. Don’t do that!” He exclaims. 

“Sorry,” she says. She doesn’t sound very sorry.

Steve takes a few steps away from her to where a wooden storage block sits on the marble countertop. He slides the knife into a suitable crevice and turns to face Natasha. When she just studies him, he says, “What is it, Nat?”

“That wasn’t ASL.” She says it almost like an accusation.

Steve shrugs. “Never said it was.”

“What was it?” She asks.

Steve rubs his head. He just wanted to go for a nice run and destress, but there’s no point in lying now. He takes a deep breath and then says, “It’s a secret language that Bucky and I made up as kids.”

Natasha never looks surprised so he’s not taken aback when she remains impassive.

He is, however, stunned when she says, “Would it upset you if I did one of the signs?”

It feels like a punch to the gut. He trusts Natasha with his life, but that language isn’t for her. They shared with the Commandos and Steve wouldn’t be opposed to sharing with Sam and Nat now. But if they did decide to show them the signs, it would be their choice. They didn’t choose this. “Yes,” he says honestly.

“Does it upset you that I might even know one?”

“Yes,” he repeats.

“I’m sorry,” she replies. Natasha is about as meek as he’s ever seen her look. She gives him a minute to say something else and when he doesn’t, she spins on her heel to leave him alone.

Truly, Steve knows that it’s not Natasha’s fault; Natasha is not even the one he’s upset with. It was more the shock, the loss of control that distressed him. “Wait, Nat,” he says. She turns. “I-…Which one is it?”

Steve doesn’t really know how he’ll react if it’s something like _‘yours.’_ He prays it’s not _‘I love you.’_ Steve has been given so many miracles and he’s still greedy for one more. Anything but that.

It’s an overwhelming relief when her middle and ring fingers twist together but her hand remains still. She holds it up for a second, just long enough to let him see, and then drops it.

“Just that?” He asks, hoping.

“Yes.”

He lets out a breath and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He does the actual sign himself, tapping his fingers to his bottom lip. “It’s my name.”

Natasha nods. “He did it sometimes. Just the hand thing, not the movement. We couldn’t figure out why. But eventually, they saw and they…got him to stop.”

“I know. He told me what they did,” Steve says thickly. For some reason, he never considered the possibility that Natasha might have witnessed that. What he can only imagine, she might remember. Guilt piles up in his stomach.

They are silent for a moment, both giving the other a chance to process what has been said.

“Maybe, when he’s a little better, I could show you a few more,” Steve finally says.

Natasha gives him a little smile. “Okay,” she agrees and he knows that she understands the weight of his offer.

Steve’s run is somewhat ruined by the knowledge that he will have to talk to Bucky when he gets back. Keeping Natasha’s confession to himself would be lying by omission. Obviously, that is not an option. Everything between them is shared; it’s as simple as that.

When he makes it to their floor, he’s truly surprised to see Tony huddled over a laptop with Bucky. A strange song is coming from the laptop. The lyrics and tune match Mr. Brightside, one of Bucky’s favorites from this era. But it been altered to sound like it’s from the 40s. It’s not bad.

“Oh, hey Cap!” Tony calls.

“Look,” Bucky says, turning the laptop around so Steve can see. When he gets closer, he sees that everything in the video is meant to look like it’s from the 40s. Except the streaming quality, of course.

“That’s cool, Buck,” he says. It is kind of cool, but the little smile on Bucky’s face is the real luxury.

“Look how many there are,” he says. He points to the suggested videos in the sidebar with his metal finger. To scroll down, he switches his grip. His metal hand goes to keep the laptop steady while his bandaged right uses the touch screen to reveal more videos. The metal doesn’t register with touch screens.

“Does that bother you?” Tony asks, gesturing to Bucky’s metal hand.

Bucky shrugs. “Not really,” he says.

“It’s an easy fix. I could work on it later today, if you want. You could have it done before you leave,” Tony offers.

Bucky stares at him for a beat. Disbelieving, he says, “You want to take off my arm and give me a completely new one later today?”

“What?” Tony exclaims. “No! Just a glove. Well, I mean, for now. I’ll transfer the technology to a new arm by next week. Why do you never tell me when you have an issue? I could have done this forever ago.”

“It’s not really an issue,” Bucky says. He’s selects another video. Stacy’s Mom starts playing in a 30s style.

“Whatever. It’s an issue,” Tony says. He starts heading for the elevator. “You’re welcome!” He calls as he leaves.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve yells after him.

By the time Steve has showered and dressed, he’s almost forgotten the conversation he’s supposed to be having with Bucky.

When Steve returns to the living room, he hears that overplayed Taylor Swift song but edited into a Motown style. Bucky is scowling at his laptop, scrolling through the sidebar for another video. “I don’t like this one,” he explains.

Not too long ago, Steve heard Bucky use different variations of that phrase about 15 times a day. It used to get him so mad. And then, when he realized he was getting angry with Bucky for something that truly wasn’t his fault, it only frustrated Steve more. It feels like a simpler time now, even though it really wasn’t.

Bucky chooses a gospel rendition of Every Breath You Take by the Police. This one is better. “Isn’t this cool, Stevie? They have all the way from the 20s to the 60s, I think. They even have a Marilyn Monroe video. You know, the girl who slept with the President from the cursed family?”

Bucky has been doing a lot of Googling since he got back. While Steve despised all the research he had to do when he woke up, Bucky loved every second of it.

“Bucky, can you pause that for a minute?” Steve asks. “I need to talk to you.”

That gets Bucky’s attention. Steve can practically feel the tension creep into the room as Bucky pauses the video, throws the room into silence. Maybe he should have let him keep it on.

“So, I ran into Natasha this morning before my run,” Steve starts. There’s absolutely no point in dancing around this, especially not with Bucky. If nothing else, they are always truthful with each other. Bucky is the one person he has never had to worry about getting a half truth from, and vice versa. Steve owes him this honesty.

He continues, “Actually, she was waiting for me there. She saw us yesterday, you know, and she knows ASL.” Bucky’s forehead is creased up in worry and he’s fidgeting with his injured hand. So, Steve tries to get the rest of the story out as quickly as possible. “She knew something was up and she wanted to know what we were doing. And she-Buck, she really freaked me out for a second. She told me she knew one of the signs and-”

“Which. One.” Bucky interrupts.

“Just my name,” Steve assures him. “Nothing big, alright? And she didn’t even know the motion of it, just how to put her hand.”

Bucky chews his lip silently. “She knew it from the time with the..” He motions cutting open the inside of his right forearm.

“Yes.”

Steve excepts anger. He expects screaming and broken things strewn across the floor. He expects apologizing to Tony, offering to pay for it even though he knows his money will be waved away. But Bucky just looks defeated.

This is somehow worse. He’s always preferred raging mad Bucky to this quiet, desolate Bucky. 

“Buck,” he tries, “it’s not a big deal, really. I was really upset when she told me, too. But when I thought about it a bit more, I think it’s okay. The Commandos knew how to say a lot more than just my name, remember?”

“But we chose that,” Bucky says softly. He doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes.

Steve gently puts a finger under his chin, telegraphing his intent before actually making contact. He just wants some magic thing to say and make Bucky feel better. But he knows no such thing exists. It’s not that Natasha knows a sign, it never was. Bucky has lost so much of his control; it was stripped from him, slowly and painfully, over the course of years. He clawed his way up, over and over, fighting tooth and nail just to see a minute glimpse of autonomy. And time and time again, it was maliciously torn from his grasp. This thing with Natasha and the signs could have happened today or ten years from now and it would feel the same to Bucky. Every inch of independence he loses is another unsolicited surgery without pain meds; it’s another pull of the trigger that he did not choose, another week that he is not allowed to sleep.

In the end, all Bucky says is, “It’s not fair.” His bottom lip wobbles but he steadfastly does not cry; one more thing Hydra beat out of him.

“I know,” Steve whispers. There’s nothing else he can say. Bucky is right; it’s not fair. Bucky deserves much better than this shitty hand he’s been dealt. He deserves the world, the universe even. But Steve doesn’t have the world; he doesn’t have the universe. All he’s got is himself so, he’ll give all of that to Bucky and hope it’s enough.

***

Three days later, Steve is sitting across from Sam at a little diner Clint showed them a few months back. They’ve already polished off a few monstrous burgers and are taking their time with their milkshakes. Sam is sitting sideways in the bright red booth, leaning against the wall behind him and resting one elbow on the table.

“Dude, Will is definitely evil,” Sam is saying. “Do you not remember when a black slug came out of his mouth?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “So? He looked surprised when that happened. If he was evil, he wouldn’t be surprised about throwing up slugs.”

“No, no. I’m not saying Will himself is evil. I’m just saying he’s possessed,” Sam clarifies. Steve gives him a skeptical look as he takes another sip of his milkshake. “Just wait, man. You’ll see. Next season, he’s gonna be killing small animals and everything, I know it.”

“Can they even show somebody killing small animals?” Steve wonders aloud.

Sam shrugs. “Probably. I don’t think Netflix has rules like that.”

If Netflix has no rules, then what’s to stop them from showing all kinds of crazy stuff, Steve thinks. Could they show disembodied limbs and people being decapitated? Or would the public start to complain? He doesn’t watch Game of Thrones, but he hears that show has some brutal stuff; gore and incest and probably more. And people love that show. So, maybe-

Sam’s voice shakes him out of his internal dissection of modern television. “Hey, by the way, you never told me you knew ASL.”

“Huh?”

“You know ASL,” Sam states, like Steve is being slow. “You were doing it with Barnes the other day.”

“Oh! Oh. No, that-…that wasn’t ASL.” Steve knew this conversation would happen eventually. He chose this when he started doing those signs in front of everybody. But really, what choice did he have? Nothing else would have brought Bucky back so fast.

“BSL?” Sam tries.

“What’s that?”

Across the table, Sam squints like he’s trying to figure out if Steve is messing with him. He says, “British sign language?”

“No, no. It’s nothing like that,” Steve explains vaguely. Sam pointedly takes a sip of his milkshake and waits for Steve to elaborate. Here goes nothing. “It’s just something Buck and I made up as kids. It’s…well, it’s kind of like a language. It’s actually been really useful, like during the war or when we wanted to help each other with tests in high school.”

“Kind of like a language,” Sam repeats flatly.

“It’s not complete. Some things, you can’t say in it because we never made up the signs. Well, I mean, unless you spell out the word.”

Sam is looking at him like Steve has said that he and Bucky are actually from Mars and not the 40s. He blinks once at Steve and then says, “Just. Let me get this straight. You mean to tell me that you and Barnes, as little kids, made up a fucking language?”

“Yeah,” Steve says casually.

“What, were you guys just bored one day?” Sam starts doing a bad imitation of a Brooklyn accent. “Like, hey what do you wanna do today? Oh, I don’t know, let’s just create a language?”

“No, it started because-…well, we always got in trouble for talking during class. And one day our teacher, I guess she’d had enough and she separated us. But we still wanted to talk to each other. So, we started making up a few basic signs and it just kinda grew from there.”

Sam rubs his forehead like he’s got a headache. “And how old were you guys when this happened?”

“About seven,” Steve replies. Sam looks suddenly tired. “I think Bucky was almost eight,” Steve adds, as if that makes a difference.

“Man, I hope I don’t have to tell you that this is some serious codependent shit.”

Steve can’t really argue with that. “I know what you mean, but it’s not like we use it all the time.”

“So, when you’re alone with him, you still speak out loud?”

“Yeah, we use both,” Steve explains. Sam nods, seemingly satisfied for now. They lapse into silence and Steve thinks in relief that that…didn’t actually go too badly.

Out of nowhere, Sam gives a little chuckle.

“What is it?” Steve inquires.

“I can’t believe Captain America used to cheat in high school.”

 

**August 2017:**  
“Has anyone ever told you two that that’s really fucking freaky?”

Tony is standing in the doorway. He’s been silently watching Steve and Bucky speak to each other in a mix of signs and spoken words.

Steve shrugs. “Don’t think so,” he says.

Teasing people is one of Tony’s favorite past times and their language gives him plenty of material. Even a couple years ago, it would have caused tension between the three of them. However, Tony has earned his right to make a couple jokes from time to time.

When he had learned about Bucky’s aversion to JARVIS, he’d taken everything but the basic surveillance out of their floor. Bucky had agreed to leave things like the heart monitor function in place. Then Tony had taken him to his lab and given him free reign to look over JARVIS’ capabilities and limitations. As Bucky watched, Tony had manually removed any function related to translation or foreign language processing. If they weren’t speaking English in the Tower, they wouldn’t be understood by JARVIS.

“Well then you guys need to find some more honest friends, because that’s really fucking freaky,” Tony says.

Bucky gets a playful glint in his eye and turns to Steve. _‘We should make signs for the A-V-E-N-G-E-R-S,’_ he signs.

_‘For who?’_ Steve signs back. He points at Tony, who is scowling at them, and signs, _‘him?’_

“Alright!” Tony shouts. “I get it, you guys are talking about me. You can stop now.”

Bucky smiles. _‘I think he’s scared of us,’_ he tells Steve.

Steve looks across the room at Tony, who is actually starting to squirm a little. _‘I don’t think I’ve seen him so U-N-C-O-M-F-O-R-T-A-B-L-E before.’_ Steve hates spelling things out with his hands. It’s tedious and unnecessary when he can just say the word out loud. But right now, it’s worth it for the look on Tony’s face.

“That’s it. I can’t watch this creepy sign language anymore,” Tony declares. He turns and purposefully strides out of the room. Over his shoulder, he calls, “you two should see a therapist!”

***

Later that week, Tony insists that he has a movie that everyone must see. He’s not the best at scheduling things. Usually, he sets a date and if you can’t make it, well then you better re-arrange your entire life. But for this, Tony makes sure that everyone can agree.

They order take-out and it takes forever. If they ever spent a night doing anything other than bickering constantly, Steve would start to wonder if his friends had been replaced with lookalikes. Even Bucky, who spent the better part of a year silently watching as the group relentlessly traded jabs, joins in now.

“Alright, fighting time is over!” Tony shouts to the room, clapping his hands as loudly as possible. “I am about to bestow this blessing of a movie upon you.” When the picture of the movie cover comes up on the screen, several people start speaking at once.

“What the hell is this?” Bucky complains.

“It looks like a lesbian Twilight,” Clint offers, munching on a mouthful of popcorn.

Tony makes a face at him. “Do you not see where is says Perfect _Sisters_?” Tony asks. 

“We don’t know what kinda kinky shit you’re into,” Sam says.

“You literally watch siblings fuck every week on Game of Thrones,” Tony fires back.

“Hey!” Natasha protests. “It’s not _every_ week!”

Without further comment, Tony plays the movie. He relentlessly shushes any person who dares speak during his self-proclaimed “life changing” movie. Of course, Steve and Bucky simply switch to sign language. But Tony has planned ahead. He chose the spot next to Steve for this very reason and when he catches them, he slaps Steve’s hands down. There’s some mild protesting, but they stop.

Three minutes go by before they start up again.

Tony moves on to plan B. He sneaks his own hand over and takes Steve’s, interlacing their fingers. Before Steve can even pull away, Bucky’s metal hand is slapping Tony’s, forcing him to release his hold. Turns out, metal slaps really fucking hurt.

“Psycho,” Tony mutters, rubbing his hand.

Tony’s movie is not life-changing. It’s not even that good. Steve doesn’t understand why they’ve been forced to sit through this until the two sisters in the movie start speaking gibberish to each other. They have a secret language.

From that point on, the jokes are non-stop. To the room’s delight, one of the girls dyes her hair black and glares at nearly everyone she encounters. The other girl acts nothing like Steve but she has blonde hair and that’s enough.

“I think she got her makeup from the same place JB shops,” Sam says. On the screen, the girl whom they have decided is Bucky is applying Winter Soldier-esque eyeshadow.

Even when the material begins to run dry and the jokes become repetitive, Steve and Bucky aren’t bothered by it. There was a time when anyone even knowing about the language’s existence would have been cause for panic. For most of their lives, the truth of their relationship has been a world-ending, desperately kept secret. Now, Bucky taps his lips twice and Steve obliges, giving him a quick kiss there.

“Hey, stop that cutesy shit!” Tony complains. “We’re trying to make fun of you, pay attention!”

The movie ends with the two girls killing their alcoholic mother in the bathtub. As the investigators try to interrogate them, they speak to each other in the language only they can understand.

“You taking notes, Stevie? We could use this stuff,” Bucky comments.

“Great. As if you guys need any more creepy shit to do,” Sam says.

The room breaks into a few separate conversations as they move to clean up wrappers and empty bowls. The discussion of languages has provoked Sam and Rhodey to test themselves; they’re attempting to carry out a conversation in Arabic. Tony shares his last few jokes with Bruce, the only one who is still even pretending to listen. Clint messily shoves the last of the popcorn in his mouth while Natasha calls him disgusting in Russian. 

Steve meets Bucky’s eyes and asks, _‘Sleep here tonight?’_

_‘Fine with me,’_ Bucky replies. He sees the telltale glimmer of metal at Steve’s collarbone. So, he reaches out and pulls his own dog tags from underneath Steve’s shirt. Bucky has Steve’s too. They don’t wear them all the time but the tiny weight of them is a nice comfort. “Remember when Dugan _‘caught us in France?’_ ”

Steve nods, studying Bucky. Of course, he remembers the all-encompassing panic of being certain that they would never again live anything resembling a normal life. In all the best ways, that turned out to be true.

He catches Bucky’s fingers in his own, smiling when Bucky grabs on tight. They’re alone in the room now and Steve has one hand free.

_‘I told you we’d figure it out, didn’t I?’_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me in English, French, Mandarin, or Steve and Bucky’s weird ass sign language on [tumblr!](http://starspangledstyles.tumblr.com)
> 
> Disclaimer: I speak enough French and Mandarin to get by in basic conversation but I’m only really fluent in English. So pls let me know if I totally botched something!
> 
> T'es rien qu'un petit connard: French for “You really are an asshole”  
> Du atomunfall: German for “You’re a nuclear accident” (huge shout out to [melonbutterfly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly) for this one)  
> Kono baka yarō me: Japanese for “You stupid bastard”  
> Иди на хуй: Russian for “fuck off” (or at least reddit said it was)
> 
> The remixes of modern songs that Tony shows Bucky are all real, and they’re pretty cool. They’re from a YouTube channel called PostModernJukeBox.


End file.
